Not All Heroes Wear a Cape
by HighOnAWindyHill
Summary: Not all heroes wear a cape. But, some of them have badges. Neal Caffrey is a 15 yr old artist threatened to create forgeries for an abusive father. When his father takes it one step too far, a certain Agent Burke shows up to help pick up the pieces and give this mistreated con a life that he deserves. Father/son relationship with the customary fluff& N/P banter. Give it a whirl.
1. Chapter 1

A/N - Rated T because there is some relatively minor abuse necessary for the backstory in the beginning of this chapter. :/ Don't worry, the more time that passes, the fluffier it will get. It's kind of like making cotton candy, except not really at all. Also, I don't own White Collar in any way. I'm just borrowing these beautifical characters briefly. Heh accidental alliteration.

"You didn't finish the painting.." His maniacal voice was steady and composed.

The cramped living room was eerily quiet and his steps were dangerously heavy on the cracked, hardwood floors. It was the calm before the storm. And Neal knew it all too well.

"No. I- I couldn't get the supplies in time. The FBI agent- Burke. He was after me again. I couldn't.." His hasty words were slurred from his fear and his mind was all over the place. All he could think about was his abuser's raging face, his calm, yet deadly, words and the empty canvas being paraded in front of him.

He needed to get out. Now.

"Oh, the big, bad FBI agent was after you. Was he now?" His captor chuckled. But it wasn't a soft or gentle chuckle. It was cruel, it was harsh, and it made Neal want to run - and fast. But he couldn't do that. He knew this.

"If- If I hear about this Agent Burke one more time, you are going to be sorry, m-my dear boy." His father's voice was harsh now, his words slurred by the booze slowly pouring out of the bottle clenched tightly in his hand.

In an instant, the canvas fell hard to the floor, tearing against the split wooden panels. Neal's breathes were quickening now, in time with his accelerated steps backwards. His father was angry and Neal was smart enough to know that this was about to get a lot worse.

"L-ook at the paper, Nea-l."

He was holding up the contract. Oh, that despicable contract. How Neal wished he could destroy it. To tear it apart. To burn it and watch it crumble before him. But he had no ability to do that. He could merely watch the text in his father's hands. Staring at him, mocking him.

"You owed me that painting you ungrateful son of a -"

His father took a threatening stride forward and Neal winced despite himself.

"Dad.. dad." The drawn out words burned at Neal's tongue. This man was not a father to him. He never had been. He was nothing but an abusive drunkard who made his life hell. He used Neal's talent for his own selfish benefit, not giving a damn about what happened to his own son.

"I'll g-get you that painting. I promise you, I will." He was pleading now. "Can't you give him something else in my room? There's still a lot of other pieces in there. You could get a - a really good figure for some of those." He wanted to break down just thinking about his own cowardice. But if he valued his life, he knew that there was nothing else he could do.

"He did not request a different piece. He wanted the one he paid me for, you imbecile.."

"Okay, okay. It was just a suggestion. Please, why- why don't you just calm down?

"Ohh, calm down? I - I should calmm down? Well, you'd like that wouldn't you.. you'd.." His father stopped mid-sentence and Neal braced himself for the inevitable, cringing as his legs almost gave out in fear.

His father paused for a moment before walking to the nearby counter and rummaging through the drawers. Neal could only stand in quiet dread as his father pulled out two identical, metal objects. Both of which he was far too familiar with.

His father approached him as fast as his sluggish, alcohol-hindered steps could take him. With two sets of handcuffs in one hand and the large bottle of booze still in the other, he made his way over to his son.

"You- you betrayed me. I looked like a fool in front of the buyer. I - I had noth- nothing to give him in exchange for my money. For m- my precious money. You think this whiskey just buys itself, don't you ?" His voice was rough and his teeth were clenched as he snarled.

Neal backed farther away from his abuser, holding his hands in front of him as a sign of surrender.

"Oh, well aren't y-you helpful?" His father snickered with mock glee as he inched closer to him. "Just handing yourself over to me-"

Neal muffled a scream as his father took two long strides before grabbing him by the wrists and fastening a pair of handcuffs onto each of his outstretched hands.

His father had two sets of handcuffs. Yes, two. He didn't wish to bind Neal hands together. That would be far too simple and considerably less painful. Instead, he chose to attach both hands separately to the well-known rusted bar that hung from the decapitated apartment ceiling. He never preferred it when Neal was able to run.

He quickly slammed the paired cuffs onto the corroded bar and fastened them tightly, despite the harshness of his son's accompanying cries.

He pulled back slightly then to survey his work, chortling menacingly as he did so.

"Not so fun, is-is it boy?" Neal didn't respond, only fought harder against the cuffs as he hung there.

"Well, I-I for one am f-finding it very fun. In fact," he paused, taking a long swig out of the bottle still held tight in his hand. "Why don't we spice up our enjoyment j-just a little bit?"

At that moment, Neal couldn't help but yell, pulling his body back against the wall with all of his might. But it was no use.

The glass had shattered immediately. The bottle of burning alcohol had been smashed hard against him. He felt his skin punctured with shards of razor-sharp glass, warm blood coating his clothing, and the foul, acidic smell of cheap whiskey burning at his flesh.

He pulled harder at his restraints. But the rigidity of the taut cuffs only worked to cut deeper into his skin. His efforts merely aggravating the open wounds.

"Oh ye - yes that was quite amusing, wasn't it boy?." His father barked, a devilish glint in his eye.

"Oh my g-" Neal could hardly form coherent words. "Dad.. listen," he sputtered, voice rasping and eyes squinting from the acidic burn, "let- let me down."

"Ha! And what on - on this Earth would possess me to do a foolish thin' like that? I don't have to do anything you tell me, you worthless idiot. You didn't follow the rules, boy. And you know what would happen if you broke the rules.." He paused momentarily, in thought.

"I could kill you right now if I w-wanted to." He seemed to seriously ponder that thought for a moment and Neal's heart stopped.

"Considering you're provin' to be no use to m-me anymore, maybe I will do just that.."

His father approached quickly and before Neal could utter a word, his hands were held firmly against his neck, squeezing with all of their might.

Neal was losing oxygen- fast. Considering his father's grip only grew tighter as he struggled, he chose to stop, preparing himself to face the inevitably when a large, earsplitting sound filled his ears. It was the door. The sound of the door being kicked in.

"Bruce Caffrey," a confident, familiar-sounding voice boomed. "Put your hands where I can see them. Do not move."

The voice was steady and calm, yet the worry and concern assaulting the contours of the man's face were unmistakable. It was Agent Peter Burke. The man Neal had tried so desperately to get away from was now the one person in the world he wanted to see.

He felt immediate relief overcome him as his father reluctantly removed his hands and held them above his head.

_It's funny.._ Neal thought, the new-found oxygen slowly clearing his foggy stupor. _It-it's funny how things work out.  
_

_WCWCWCWC  
_

The agent ran up to Neal immediately. The moment Bruce had his hands above his head, Peter had motioned for his backup to quickly restrain and cuff the man. He had faith in his team, and after all, he had more pressing issues to attend to; the victim of Bruce's latest assault. His own son.

"Jesus - Caffrey." Neal's head was bobbing slightly and his eyes were closed as he hung motionless from the bar. But as Peter came closer he could tell that he was still breathing. The kid's breathes were coming in slow and ragged. But nonetheless, he was breathing. And Peter could not have been more relieved.

He nudged Neal lightly on the shoulder, careful to find a place that had not been so badly damaged. He was trying to gain his attention but was finding it incredibly difficult to do so.

Peter turned from the kid for a moment to address his astute team. "Someone please find the keys to these things or get me pliers or something!" Peter's orders were precise and direct and he was content when his request was met with resounding, _yes, sirs _from his backup_._

"Caffrey? Caffrey- hey, look up for a minute. It's just me. He's gone now." Peter waited a moment, scared that Neal had possibly lost consciousness before a quiet mutter was heard.

"Sorry. I really can't."

Peter winced inwardly before regaining control of the situation. "Okay. That's okay. We're going to get these cuffs off of you first." He said, his mind thinking rapidly. "And then, well the paramedics are already on their way. It's gonna be fine."

Neal nodded slowly and Peter couldn't help but notice the deep red hand prints on his possibly broken neck. The agent in him felt a sudden, piercing urge to just make things better. To help this poor kid who had been so horrifically abused. But for now, he'd just have to wait.

"Here's the key you requested, boss."

Peter looked away for a minute to take the key out of his fellow agent's hand.

"Thanks, Di. Could you instruct the team to search for evidence? Oh, and check on the location of the paramedics while you're at it."

"You got it, boss."

Careful of Neal's injured wrists, Peter, slowly but surely unfastened the cuffs and lowered a very limp Neal Caffrey to the ground.

"Thanks." The soft reply was so unfamiliarly quiet, that if Peter hadn't been standing so close, he doubt he would have even heard it.

Peter nodded futilely before taking a seat next to Neal against the wall.

"Caffrey," Peter turned to look at the beaten young man. "Really, you're gonna be okay, now. You have nothing to worry about."

Neal didn't look up at him.

"The paramedics should be here soon." He continued. "They're probably stuck in rush hour or something." He paused then, unsure of what to say next. What reassuring platitudes could be said to the teenaged conman whom you've chased for years that you just found hanging from a bar, horribly abused by his own father?

Well, it's not exactly a Hallmark specialty.

"So uh, can I help in some way before they get here?" Peter said, at an apparent loss.

Neal only shook his head no.

They sat in silence for a while before he felt Neal shift slightly beside him.

"So," Neal began slowly, his voice low. "Agent Burke."

Peter snapped to attention as he heard the quiet words uttered from the boy beside him.

"Wh- what brings you to this joyous neck of the woods?" His tone was unusually low and his voice was calm and even.

"Wouldn't NYPD usually handle a case like this?" Neal was attempting to lift his head up slowly now that the pressure had ceased and the swelling had gone down significantly.

"Well, yeah. Usually they would." Peter supplied, eager to be free of the discomforting silence.

"But they alerted the White Collar division once they found out that the woman who called about the possible assault was actually the downstairs neighbor of the one and only Neal Caffrey." Peter could swear he heard a light chuckle but he couldn't have been too sure.

"They thought that maybe the noise that the she heard had something to do with your alleged escape plans after your last forging incident. Because this falls into my _area of expertise_, they figured it couldn't hurt to have the FBI go down and check it out." Neal didn't respond so Peter chose to simply carry on talking.

"And by the looks of it, the noise she heard was probably just the sound of the bottle shattering." Peter paused momentarily, cringing inwardly. He couldn't even imagine what Neal had been put through. And not just today.

"Huh, area of expertise?" He questioned, titling his head slightly. "So, you think you're some kind of expert on me, Burke?" Neal's voice was still rough as he managed to lift his head enough to lean it back against the wall.

"No, I know I am." Peter replied, not missing a beat. "I mean I have been chasing you for almost two years, right? What are you like fifteen, now?" Peter grinned slightly and Neal gave him a weak smile in response.

"Hm, interesting. I thought you knew everything about me."

"I do." Peter said quickly. "And I'm right about that."

Neal only huffed in response and Peter took that as a yes.

"Well," Neal continued, after a brief pause. "Considering I've also been running away from you for almost two years, I guess you could say I'm somewhat of an expert on you too, no?"

"Not necessarily." Peter said, matter-of-factly."I have FBI resources. You do not."

"Fair enough. But I have street contacts. Which I hope you do not."

Peter chuckled then, watching as Neal's smile grew just a little. "No. I don't think that would do wonders for my reputation."

Neal shook his head slowly before closing his eyes again. And Peter let him be.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N - Still don't own White Collar. Pretty bummed about it. You want to know some good news, though? Matt Bomer just tweeted for the first time a few hours ago. Still freaking out about it. Go check it out at MattBomer if you haven't already seen it. He tweeted from the Ellen show. He's so adorable. I can't.

Nearly ten minutes had passed as Peter pretended to focus on storing possibly irrelevant forms of evidence into small FBI sanctioned bags. However, in reality, he was focusing on Neal and the paramedics who were working on him. It had been so discomforting seeing him like that. He had never before seemed so helpless, so vulnerable and certainly not this.. alone.

Usually, such qualities wouldn't even fall into the top 100 character traits of the gifted whiz-kid that wasNeal Caffrey. Yet at that moment, it was all he could see.

When he first approached Neal, he was alarmed by the overwhelming surge of protectiveness he had suddenly felt for the kid. More than alarmed, if he was being honest. Yet, he'd just chalked it up to the initial harshness of the situation. He was confident that the unfamiliar feeling would diminish with time. But so far, it hadn't.

He kept finding himself looking over at the kid. Watching him, making sure things with the paramedics were going okay. Granted his view of Neal was currently being blocked by the mass of fast-moving technicians, yet he did it anyway. It had become a sort of reflexive at this point.

However, Peter was soon saved from the assault of complex thoughts by Kyle Bancroft's booming voice behind him.

"Burke," he paused, clearing his throat unnecessarily. "Listen, there's a situation."

"What? What's the matter?" His higher-up immediately had Peter's full attention. "Is it the paramedics?"

"No, no. Nothing like that." Bancroft paused again, seeming unsure of how exactly to proceed.

"Burke, you need to see this. Follow me."

Peter only nodded before following him into a room not too far from where they were stood.

At first, the agent didn't seem to understand what all of the commotion was about. The lights were still off, but from what he could tell, it seemed like any ordinary painting room. Of course, they all knew Neal was an artist. However, as Bancroft moved to turn the lights on, the problem soon became clear.

The room was filled with paintings and figurines of all sorts. However, they were not original works of art by any means. They were forgeries. All of them. Some were completed, some were not. Nevertheless, there they were. Peter was finally faced with the studio in which Neal created his counterfeits. And, more importantly, he was faced with the work itself, as well.

The work that could send Neal to jail.

"Sir, I-" Peter was at a loss for words. He still felt this unusual desire to- to save the kid, to protect him in some way, given what he had been through. Yet he had no idea how to go about doing so. Not this time.

"Peter, I understand how this puts you in a difficult situatio-"

"Hold on," Peter interjected, grasping at straws. "You can't do this. This didn't concern us. It's not why we're here-"

Bancroft immediately held up his hand, cutting the agent off.

"We had every right to, Peter. I cleared it with the DA after we handcuffed Bruce. I explained the team's intent to search the property for evidence on Bruce and his past assaults while the squad was already stationed here. We need to do more than just get this guy in a cell. We have to keep him there, Peter."

"Additionally," Bancroft continued, waving a dismissive hand at Peter's stoic look. "It was clearly in plain sight. The pieces were not stored away and there isn't even a door on this room. It was wide open." He waved his hand expansively around the room, emphasizing his point.

"Now, is there something else you'd like to point out to me about how I do my job, Burke?"

"Well, no. It- it just doesn't seem fair."

"Yeah, well sometimes the law isn't fair. But we can't just blur the lines for one kid. It doesn't work that way."

"So.." Peter said slowly, still stunned. "You want me to arrest him?"

Bancroft didn't respond at first. But after a moment, he did nod his head affirmatively.

"OK, let me get this straight. You want me to arrest the kid that we found handcuffed by his abusive father to a rusted poll after he had a glass bottle of whiskey thrown at him? That is what you're asking me to do?" Peter's voice had grown dangerously calm now, yet the look in his eyes held a mixture of both rage and evident distress.

"Peter, we don't always have the easiest of jobs. But this is what we are paid to do." Bancroft was looking down, avoiding eye-contact. Suddenly, Peter suspected he hated this almost as much as he did.

Peter paused for a moment before sighing heavily and rubbing a calloused palm wearily down his face. He was in no way mentally prepared to ask his next question.

"Do I have to handcuff him?" Peter's voice was steady and non-threatening now. He had never felt so defeated.

Bancroft nodded reluctantly and Peter's heart dropped. "You know that's policy, Peter. If you don't want to do it, I will. Or I can get another agent to.."

"No." Peter said firmly, regaining a modicum of composure. "That's fine. I'd prefer to do it myself."

WCWCWCWC

Peter approached Neal slowly. The paramedics were gone now, yet he was sitting there like before; motionless with his eyes closed and his head leaned back against the solid brick wall.

Peter was confused. He was usually so confident, so direct with what he wanted to say. However, there was certainly a first time for everything.

"Hey, Caffrey. How you doing?" He inquired cautiously. "I see the paramedics left."

"Yeah. I'm fine, thanks." Neal hadn't changed position, only opening his eyes to respond.

Peter nodded before sitting down next to Neal like before. He figured that he would wait a few moments, contemplate what he was going to say and how he would go about saying it. He didn't want to make this any harder than it needed to b-

"You saw the room, didn't you?"

Peter winced inwardly, he certainly hadn't been expecting that. It was strange, though. If Neal knew what he had seen, why hadn't he tried to run or, at the very least, make a slew of practiced excuses? More significantly, he had not chosen to be mean or hurtful to Peter, which would have made this unimaginably harder for him. He was simply accepting it.

"Yes, I did." Peter sighed deeply, shutting his eyes for a brief moment.

"And now you have to arrest me.."

His retort was so direct, so straight forward. He had hardly missed a beat.

Well, no one said the kid wasn't smart.

Peter took this opportunity to look over at the boy, intrigued. He had yet to move from his original positioning, and oddly enough, his eyes were still closed. He sounded so calm that it was almost concerning.

"Listen, Caffrey. I promise you this was not my original intentions. I had no idea-"

"Yeah." Neal said plainly. "I know."

He opened his eyes then, turning his head slightly to face the agent he knew all too well. Except, Neal quickly noticed that he didn't look like his usual confident, all-knowing agent, self anymore. Now he looked weak, troubled, almost defeated.

"And you need to handcuff me, don't you?"

After a moment, the agent only nodded.

Peter watched as Neal merely nodded back before gradually standing up. He knew for a fact that he wouldn't have been able to endure what Neal had only to be arrested not one hour later. However, a lone part of him wasn't too surprised by Neal's reaction. The kid had never been the confrontational type before. And he was certainly in no condition to run.

Peter had a sickly feeling about this. It was like taking candy from a baby. Fighting someone that couldn't fight back.

Peter soon stood up as well, turning until he was facing the boy.

Neal held his hands out expectantly, watching Peter take the cuffs out of his pocket.

However, Peter had something else in mind.

"No." Peter said plainly, watching Bancroft out of the corner of his eye. "Hands behind your back."

Peter caught Neal blink suddenly. There was no denying the confusion and something that seemed vaguely similar to hurt that flashed across his usually schooled features. Even if it was for just the briefest of moments.

But Neal did as he was told, regardless, turning around before putting his hands out once again.

Peter carefully looked at the wrists before him. Each one had bandages on it to cover the deep wounds from the too tight cuffs that Peter had seen earlier. And now here Peter was, about to re-handcuff those very same wrists. An esteemed FBI agent ready to mirror the ways of a criminal, to inflict the very same pain.

Neal had prepared himself to be hurt again from the moment he had held his hands out to the agent. However, he was not truly fearful until he was told to turn around. He foolishly thought Peter would make it easier. He had believed him to be different. One of the good guys.

But deep down, he knew that above all, Peter was going to do his job. It was one of the many admirable qualities of Agent Burke that Neal loathed himself for respecting.

He felt Peter take hold of his wrists, and soon enough, he felt the familiar brush of cold metal against his injured skin. The first bracelet was encircled around his bandages, curving around his wrist.

Until the next moment, when it wasn't.

He felt the cuff move down to the lowest part of his wrist, just downward from where they had been placed not an hour before. It was then closed slowly in a fashion made to all but hang from Neal's wrist. Moments later, the same was done with the next metal bracelet.

Neal was stunned. Overwhelmed by unexpected relief and stunned by the gesture, Neal was he found himself at a justifiable loss for words. He immediately berated himself for judging the agent before he had known his intentions. Before he was wearing cuffs he could scarcely feel.

"Thanks." He heard himself whisper as he made sure to turn his back to the wall, away from Bancroft and the team. It was nice to finally have someone on his side.

WCWCWCWC

The agent had done his job. Granted, he had not done it exactly as the higher ups would have liked it to be done. But nevertheless, he had done it. He only hoped it had worked out the way he'd planned.

He could hardly stomach the act of handcuffing Neal again after what he'd been through. However, the idea of actually hurting the kid stung more.

He had been careful to make the cuffs loose and place them as far away from their original location as he could. But regardless, it was not ideal and it certainly couldn't be too comfortable.

Neal hadn't said anything to the agent yet. Let alone speaking, he had yet to move at all.

He figured he would just let Neal be. He had a lot going on now and Peter was surely the last person he wanted to see. He started to walk back to the kitchen area, eager to talk to Bancroft and the team. He needed to check on the current status of things.

But as he turned, an unexpected whisper stopped him. "Thanks."

The unanticipated remark both shocked and reassured Peter as he quickly began his walk again. After all, he had a job to do and regardless of the sometimes rigid text of the law, he was going to do it right.

WCWCWCWC

"So, you cuff him, Burke?"

"Yes, I did."

"Good." The reply was borderline emotionless and Peter felt the sickly feeling in his stomach return. "With that over with, I have some very important news for you. It could mean some actual hope for the kid."

"What is it? Peter said, intrigued. "What'd you find?"

"Well," Bancroft continued, handing him over a worn-out piece of paper. "It appears to be some sort of contract. A contract between the boy and his father. It is definitely written in Bruce's handwriting. All but the signature at the end. That looks like Caffrey's for sure.

Peter took the sheet from his outstretched arm, skimming it immediately. "Oh my g-"

"I know, I know. I'll admit, it caught me off guard too."

Before Peter could formulate his next sentence, a concerned Jones and Diana appeared next to him.

"What's it say, boss?"

Peter looked up to see Bancroft nod before once again looking down at the sickening text before him.

_"I, Neal Caffrey will produce any and all counterfeit pieces that my father instructs me to create without protest and without complaint. I promise to always behave in a way that is pleasing to my father by never talking back to him, contesting his wise choices, or objecting against his justified abuse. Most importantly, I will NEVER alert law enforcement about his doings. (Especially not the horrific Agent Burke that's on my tail because I am such an irresponsible idiot.) In return, my father will keep me alive."_

Peter stopped reading for a moment, stiffening slightly as cringe-worthy chill ran through him.

_"If I break this contract, this deal will no longer hold true._

_With my signature, I acknowledge this binding agreement._

_x___Neal Caffrey___"_

"W-what the hell?" Jones and Diana's stunned response was simultaneous and Peter felt the need to nod his head in accord.

"His father threatened him with his life in order to get those damn forgeries..?" Jones questioned, frazzled.

Diana just stood there, seeming about ready to injure something. Or someone. Most likely the now jailed author of that contract.

"As disturbing as this is," Bancroft quickly interjected, voice stern, yet professional. "It can do a lot of good for the boy in cuffs out there. This case will certainly be taken to court. And when it is, both the judge and the jury will take this contract into the utmost consideration when reviewing Caffrey's criminal past."

Peter nodded his agreement as he sighed drearily. "I'll call the DA about setting up a court date. We need this to happen as soon as possible."

"Don't worry about that. I've already taken care of it." Bancroft supplied. "I called before you came in. The earliest court date she could arrange was after the weekend. This Monday, 8am sharp."

"Three days? No, that doesn't work. We need to explain that given the situation-"

"Peter, you don't think I tried that? This is the best she can do."

"So what's he suppose to do? Be locked in jail until then for crimes he was forced to commit?"

"Peter, we can get him in a youth detention facility. Or maybe a private holding cell given the circumstances."

'You've got to be kidding m-"

"Peter, your grasping at straws here." Bancroft cut in, sighing quite overdramatically. "I tried everything. Unless you want to take the kid home with you, I have no idea what else we could possibly do for him. Now, if you'd please just focus on your job and accept the situation as is-"

"Wait." Peter said, holding up a hand before pausing in thought. "D-do you think I could actually do that?"

"What?" Bancroft, Jones and Diana's replies were said in unison and Peter immediately snapped out of his thoughtful trance.

"Okay, yes. It's crazy. I mean, it's beyond that." He added, voice contemplative.

"But we can't just let him rot in jail the whole weekend. You see what he's been through. Jesus-" Peter paused, realizing that he was stammering now. It was like he had no control over the words that were coming out of his mouth. And yet, he was hearing them.

"Peter, have you completely lost your mind?" Bancroft demanded, all remnants of professionalism forgotten. "What would ever possess you to do that?" His higher-up rubbed a hand down his face quite dramatically.

"Sir, listen-"

"Do you even remember who we're dealing with here?" Bancroft said, disregarding the agent. "The two of you have been at each other's throats for years. It's ludicrous. More importantly, you have a wife to think about. I doubt she'd even be okay with this-"

"My wife would probably kill me if I didn't."

Jones and Diana both nodded reluctantly in agreement.

"Alright, alright. Well," He spoke slowly, feeling himself regret his words the moment he said them. "I mean, if you truly want to, I don't see the point in wasting the city's resources sticking him in jail. In all honestly, Peter, I don't even think the DA would ever allow this. It's highly unusual."

"If I may," Diana interjected wisely. "What if you explained to the court that it was a sort of FBI release initiative. This way he could be on a more closer watch under the care of an FBI agent. Plus, it's a fine way to find out more information about his past crimes too-"

"Diana, that is not what this is about."

"Fine, boss. Fine. But it could still work.

"That's true." Jones said in agreement. "What the courts don't know, can't hurt them."

"Fair enough. Peter," Bancroft nodded, already dialing the DA's number. "If you want my two cents, I think you're a crazy man. But if this is what you want, there's just one thing left to do."

"What's that?"

Diana and Bancroft only shook their heads in amusement before turning to walk away.

"Peter," Jones said, sticking by his, at times naive, friend. "you might want to ask Caffrey."

"Oh- oh right." Peter said pointlessly as he hurriedly turned to do just that, leaving a chuckling Jones behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

Peter walked through the small kitchen sluggishly, watching the remainder of the sun set through one of the few un-murky corners of a nearby window. He had yet to cross into the next room and confront Neal. He didn't know why he was putting this off. It wasn't that he didn't want to do it anymore. No, it was quite the opposite, in fact.

It was no mystery that he and Neal weren't exactly the best of friends. After all, there were on two entirely opposite sides of the law. He was the determined FBI agent with a consistent desire for justice while Neal was the far too intelligent con man who kept him on his toes. He recalled how Bancroft defined their rather unconventional relationship earlier. _The two of you have been at each other's throats for years. _That did seem about right.

Who was he kidding? Neal didn't even like him. He was just another Fed who made his life hell. Why on Earth would he ever want to stay with him, even if it was for just a brief amount of time? Peter could only imagine how it'd feel having Neal reject his offer in favor of being thrown in a cell. That would be real fun.

But it was odd, though. Peter had always felt a sort of connection with this kid he'd chased for quite a few years. He always found himself spending extra time reviewing his file, or sitting by a pen-marked map, futility attempting to track down his current location. He didn't feel such dedication to any other criminal he so dutifully chased after. But it wasn't too difficult to figure out why. After all, the concept of an expert, fifteen year old forger would amaze a great deal of people.

With Neal, the chase was more akin to a challenging game. And frankly, it was an amusing enough game for Peter, considering his opponent was sharper than some might initially assume. In spite of everything, Neal was smart and everyone knows how much Peter likes smart.

Plus, he'd always been a kind enough person too, especially for being both a conman and a teenager. Considering the agent usually found himself dealing with arrogant, gun-yielding criminals on a daily basis, he could certainly appreciate the change.

_'Regardless of the outcome,' _Peter thought confidently, mind made up._ 'It's still worth a shot.'_

Peter crossed into the next room, seeing Neal clearly now. The boy was sat motionless with his back to that same brick wall, his cuffed hands, still thankfully, out of sight behind his back.

_'He doesn't deserve this just because his dad is an alcoholic maniac.' _Peter thought irately as he grew closer.

Neal didn't usually act like a young kid, but nevertheless, he was one.

Sensing Peter's presence, Neal opened his eyes, slowly lifting his head up to face him. "So, what's the verdict?" Neal asked quietly. "A spacious juvie cell with an ocean view?"

"Oh, you're very funny." Peter retorted, voice low, as he sat down next to him. "But I actually just got off the phone with them. Turns out they only have tropical beach available so I told them to forget it."

Neal turned his head briefly, lips curving up slightly.

"This is bad, isn't it?" Neal sighed after a moment, face neutral once again.

"Well," Peter replied, holding out the slightly crumbled contract that was now sealed in an evidence bag. "Could be worse."

Neal looked shocked at first as he quickly recognized the offending article. But moments later, his look changed to one more akin to embarrassment, even guilt.

"Oh. I-I didn't realize you found that." He averted his gaze, shamed by his own cowardice.

"Yeah. I am so sorry about this-" Peter began sincerely, futilely attempting to ease the now present tension.

"It's fine. "Neal said after a moment. "I mean, it's not your fault."

"Well, if it helps at all, this could possibly keep you out of jail." Peter said, voice reassuring. "The- intent of your past crimes may not hold as much weight once it's brought to court with this info."

Neal nodded contemplatively, registering the significance of the agent's words.

"Maybe." He pondered, not sounding entirely convinced. "Do you know if they've set a court date yet?"

"Yeah. Monday, 8am."

Neal groaned melodramatically at that, turning to glance at Peter who had also been starring ahead. "8am. Do they not know I'm fifteen?"

Peter couldn't help but chuckle at that before a disturbing notion interrupted him.

_Yeah, if only other people had realized that. _Peter thought mindlessly, slightly regretting not being the one to cuff that horrific excuse of a father.

He took this opportunity to roll his eyes at the teenager who didn't frequently act like one.

Well, maybe he would, if he had been given the chance to.

"Don't worry, you'll live." Peter smirked slightly, putting an end to his absorbing train of thought.

" So when-" Neal asked warily, the trepidation returning to his voice. "When am I being shipped off?"

Peter quickly realized that this was his cue. He would have to say something now.

"Well, I actually wanted to talk to you about that."

Peter was still looking ahead. Yet regardless, he could almost feel the curious look that Neal was directing towards him.

"I had this idea." Peter began tentatively, turning to meet Neal's expectant gaze. "If you don't want to go ahead with it, that is completely fine too. But, I figured, what the hell?"

He could tell Neal was all ears now. Staring back at him with questioning, yet hopeful interest.

"Well, given the complexity of the situation," Peter began cautiously. "I was thinking that until the court date, you could um- stay with me."

Peter did not miss the way Neal's eyebrows almost instantly shot up, his eyes widening considerably.

"Wait.. w-what?" Neal's voice was softer than Peter had expected it to be, his tone sounding more inquisitive than scandalized.

"Yeah, it-it'd work as a sort of FBI release initiative." The agent said promptly, hastily trying to recall how Diana had worded it earlier. "As long as they know that you're under my watch, this could work in place of juvie. I know it's beyond unusual. But it did seem better than the alternative."

"Um," Neal paused for a moment, his words quiet. "I don't really know what to say."

Peter blinked suddenly, resisting the urge to hang his head in his hands.

"Oh, ok. Well-"

"I mean.. that's unbelievable. Definitely didn't see that coming." Neal said, his voice sounding almost entranced. He hadn't even realized that Peter had spoken again. "Thank you."

Peter was caught off guard by the unexpected gratitude and he paused, just then registering the once foreign look of hopefulness in the kid's eyes.

"Not a problem." Peter said frankly, feeling strangely relieved. "I know you're a good kid. And you didn't deserve any of this." Peter moved his hand expansively, gesturing to the situation around him.

Neal only nodded after a moment and Peter felt oddly distressed by how un-genuine the movement seemed. He suddenly realized that perhaps Neal didn't feel the same way. After all, it had most likely been ingrained in him that he did in fact deserve it.

"Are you really sure about this?" Neal asked after a moment, catching Peter slightly off guard.

" 'Course I am. What? You don't think I can handle a little babysitting?"

"That's not what I meant." Neal replied, wisely choosing not to protest Peter's unflattering choice of words. "Just- what if you regret it?"

Peter looked at the boy, trying hard to ignore the distressing look on Neal's face.

"Not a chance." He responded without delay, attempting to abate the kid's, albeit understandable, concern. "I'm a man of my word, Caffrey.

Neal nodded before looking down, evidently trying to conceal the tiny smile that was now curving his lips.

"You know," Neal said, with feigned nonchalance, lifting his gaze upwards to met Peter's now inquiring stare. "You should really call me Neal. It's a privilege I extend to all FBI agents who've chased me for two years."

Peter laughed, slightly taken aback by the frankness of Neal's remark.

"Alright." Peter said, thoroughly amused. "And you should call me Peter, by the way. All the smart aleck, fifteen year-old con-children do."

Neal grinned slightly, despite himself. He was finding it almost impossible to be as sullen and brooding as before. At least for now, he had scarcely a reason to be.

"So, Neal," Peter said after a moment, the new moniker not sounding as out of place as he thought it might. "Want to get the heck out of here?"

Neal sighed theatrically, his now hopeful eyes and widening smile still rightly in place.

"Is that even a question, Peter?" Neal smirked, gradually getting to his feet. "I thought you'd never ask."

WCWCWCWC

"Alright Burke, now you be careful with that kid. He is a practiced criminal and far more intelligent than he's given credit for. Whatever you do, do not underestimate him."

Peter sighed, half-listening to Bancroft's long-winded speech. It seemed to be concerning the complex danger that was the notorious Neal Caffrey. But, to be honest, Peter couldn't be too sure. He had been zoning out for the majority of the unneeded speech. At this point, he was just eager to get home.

"-let him out of your sight for even a second. I don't need the Bureau higher-ups, or worse, NYC law enforcement coming after me because you screwed this up."

"Yes, yes. I get it."

"I don't think you do. You know, you're too trusting, Burke. And Neal Caffrey is never one to be trusted. If he escapes-"

"Escapes? What's he gonna do hotwire my car? He can't even drive."

Bancroft's stare was close to lethal now and Peter found himself rethinking whether it was the right time to make an innocent joke.

"Burke," Bancroft said, his voice elevated significantly."He is a practiced criminal. Is this some sort of game to you?"

Evidently, it had not been the right time.

"Not at all. I do understand the weight of the situation. I mean, I am a component agent, sir. I'm think I'm capable of looking after him for a while. It will be fine."

"OK, Burke." Bancroft said, running a hand down his weary face. "But I'm trusting you. Don't mess this up."

"Thank you, sir. I won't. You have my word."

"Yeah, alright. Now go get Caffrey and get out of here already. Remember, the kid never leaves your sight and he stays handcuffed at least until you get inside of your house. If anything goes wrong, you have my number."

"Got it."

"Alright, you'd better. Good luck, Burke."

Peter forced a smile at his superior's unneeded platitude before turning to walk away. The longer he stayed around, the more likely Bancroft would realize that he wasn't as confident as he appeared.

Neal was on his feet and keen to leave when Peter met him by the door.

"Hey, not so fast." Peter said, nearing the impatient-looking boy. "First, some ground rules. OK?" Peter didn't even pause for a response before proceeding.

"Rule one, you do not go anywhere without me. You must be in my sight at all times."

"Rule t- hey look alive, this is important."

Neal sighed impatiently, but fixed his eyes on Peter's, nonetheless.

"Rule two," He said, directing a serious look at the boy. "You do not run. Because I will catch you and, trust me, it will not end well for you. You got it?"

Neal nodded, but Peter wasn't sure he was entirely convinced. Neal did seem to be feeling better, yet he didn't exactly look like he could run a marathon. Let alone escape a slew of irate Feds. A part of Peter was confident that the kid was smarter than to use this particular situation to test his luck.

"Rule three," Peter continued, the severity of his tone easing significantly. "No fruity jazz music is to be played on my radio at any time, or I will be the sole chooser of stations."

Neal tried not smile then, shooting the agent a look of mock hurt in response. But Peter just made sure to roll his eyes at the kid before resuming.

"Rule four-" He said, looking thoughtful, brow furrowed. "Alright. Well, I don't have another one right now. But if Bancroft asks, there were at least ten."

Neal did smile then, and Peter found his own stern persona deteriorating with every passing moment. He was far too exhausted for stern.

"Oh right. You should get your stuff before we leave." Peter said, slightly troubled that he almost forgot that important step.

"Oh." Neal said after a moment and Peter wondered if he hadn't remembered either.

"Yeah, ok." Neal said slowly, before turning to begin the short walk to his room.

_"Why's he acting so strange?" _Peter wondered as he began to follow Neal. _"Doesn't he want to go get his stuff? I'll never understand teens."_

"Okay. It should only take a second." Neal said hurriedly, pulling Peter out of his train of thought.

Peter stopped in the doorway as Neal entered the room, the agent in him showing itself immediately. He quickly began to examine the bedroom, surveying every unsettling detail of the unconventional living space Neal wasn't too eager to show off.

It was no secret that the room was unusually small and cramped. It was even smaller than the painting room he had been in not a few hours earlier. There was a lone, twin mattress in the corner of the room with a cover on top of it. This was obviously Neal's bed. There didn't seem to be any windows that he could see and the one source of light was a too bright lamp on a wooden table beside his bed.

In the opposite corner of the room he spotted a small, wooden easel and some paints. They were not as high quality as the art equipment in the, now empty, 'forging studio.' But they were nice, nonetheless.

With not much else to examine, Peter looked over at Neal expectantly.

"So, can I take these off to pack?" Neal asked, referring to his cuffs. Peter noticed that his voice sounded more questioning, than openly distressed.

"Neal-" Peter began, wary of Bancroft who was still in the other room boxing up evidence.

"Okay, okay. It was worth a shot.." Neal conceded, evidently realizing it wasn't worth it. "You see that chest over there? You can just throw the stuff in there into a bag." He advised before using his shoe to drag a nearby trash bag across the floor.

Peter knelt down in front of the chest and began doing what he was told. He idly wondered if he should say something to Neal about this unjust, and frankly appalling, living situation. Oh, the fun Child Protective Services could have had with that despicable man.

But what could he really say to Neal? He didn't want to unintentionally offend him.

"OK. I think that's it." Peter said after a moment, once the small amount of clothing was in the bag. He looked over at Neal who had been standing behind him. Once again, seeming all too ready to leave. For the most part, he appeared to be virtually unshaken by the unexpected departure from his room and the place he'd considered his home for all these years.

Peter stood up then, glancing around the room to make sure Neal wasn't leaving anything of consequence behind.

"So, where'd you get that?" Peter asked nonchalantly as he neared the object that had abruptly captured Neal's attention. He severely doubted that it was just an average birthday gift from his loving dad. And the curiosity was getting to him.

"The easel?" Neal asked, seeming rather caught off guard by the question. "Um, it was a present. My mom got it for me for my eighth birthday." He said, gaze still fixed on it.

"Your mom?" Peter questioned, overtly perplexed. Peter only ever had access to information about Neal once he began popping up all over the FBI's radar. Slightly thrown, Peter realized that he knew next to nothing about Neal's earlier childhood; before he became engaged in illicit activities. There had never been any mention of his mother in his personal file. And for some reason, he had the pressing desire to know why.

"I don't think I know anything about her." Peter said cautiously, careful to not let his true curiosity show through. "But it looks like she knew her son pretty well." He said, gesturing to the present that was oh so Neal.

"Yeah" Neal said, his tone almost wistful. "She did."

_"Did?" _Peter's inner-agent immediately detected. _"Oh no."_

Neal sighed then, looking away from it, choosing instead to fix his gaze firmly on the floor. "You don't know anything about her," Neal said, his voice quiet. "Because she passed away that same year. Lung cancer."

Peter just stared at the kid, immediately regretting his decision to speak.

"Jesus, Neal. I'm sorry." He said, stunned. "Really."

"It's been a while." Neal replied after a moment, voice still wistful. "There's no use living in the past, I guess." Neal spoke hesitantly as he started to look up once again. "But thanks."

Peter nodded, turning to face the cherished childhood present once again.

"You want to take it with you?"

Neal looked up without delay, his brows significantly higher.

"What? I couldn't take it with me." Neal said hurriedly, visibly caught off guard. He was looking at Peter now, but his mind seemed elsewhere. "How could I-? I mean, what about after..? But, wait. Really?"

The hopeful tone in the kid's frenzied words was too much for Peter so he decided to merely disregard it, taking matters into his own hands. "Well, if you don't want it, I'm taking it." He said, with mock indifference to the commandeering of Neal's gift. "But we're not just leaving it here."

The easel was pretty small and Peter had no problem picking it up and storing it away in the same trash bag as Neal's clothes. He even threw the paint bottles in there too just for good measure.

"No way." Neal was shaking his head, lips curving slightly. "Peter, thank you. I mean, that really means a lot."

Peter looked at the boy with an exaggerative, quizzical look on his face. "Why are you thanking me?" He asked, willing himself not to smile too. "I said I was taking it for me."

A/N - Next chapter should be up very soon. They'll actually leave the house then, I promise. Also, sorry about the line break situation between sections I've tried everything but they just don't seem to be coming up. So annoying. :/ It worked in the first ch. and now it's not for some reason. I'll keep trying to fix it though. Anyway, thank you for reading :DD


	4. Chapter 4

"Finally." Peter sighed as he walked out into the cool night air, car keys already in hand. "Well that was quite the ordeal. I swear, I thought I'd never see the light of day again."

"Really, Peter? Don't you think that's just a touch overdramatic?" Neal had no problem keeping up with the fast moving agent beside him. If it was even possible, he wanted to get out of there more than Peter did. "Besides, this isn't exactly the light of day. It's almost 11 at night. Technically-"

"Oh my g- You really don't stop, do you? Can't you just be a good little boy for five seconds and put a sock in it? I'm begging you."

Neal only smirked at the agent's request. "Won't make promises I can't keep, Peter. It's one of my life's mottos."

"Yeah? Well here's a new motto for you. _I will shut up more often because Peter is going to start banging his head against the wall._

"Eh. Not a fan."

Peter snorted at that, shaking his head. "Evidently, teenage cons do not come with an off switch. Can't say I'm shocked."

Neal just grinned back at him, his eyes home to an artificial innocence Peter was only too familiar with.

"Alright. Here we are." Peter announced, quickly pressing a few buttons on his key before the trunk popped open and the sound of doors unlocking could be heard.

"I'm gonna put this bag in the trunk. You can go on in." Peter said as he distractedly made his way over to the trunk, quickly lifting it open.

"Really, Peter? Can I?" Neal's lips formed a cocky, exaggerated grin and his head was tilted slightly in question.

"Oh crap. Sorry." Peter said, mentally berating himself for not remembering that the kid was still in cuffs. He walked to the passenger side door and opened it for him before heading back to the trunk, bag still in hand.

"We're almost ready to go. There's just one more thing." Peter declared hurriedly, once again walking over to the passenger side door. "I gotta go help Jones and Diana store the last few evidence boxes in the van. It'll only take a minute."

"'kay." Neal replied, not overly traumatized by the brief loss of his chaperone. "But Peter, what about rule one?"

"What?" A distracted Peter asked, voice impatient.

"Rule one. _I do not go anywhere without you. I must be in your sight at all times._" Neal whipped out his innocent smile again and Peter cursed himself mentally.

_'Outsmarted by a smug teenager- with my own rules. Fantastic.'_

"Yeah, but you forgot rule four." Peter retorted, matter-of-factly_. 'Peter's always right.'_ Means I can briefly override all rules.

"Yeah, that's not a rule."

"I say it is. And I'm always right."

"Says who?"

"Shall I refer you to rule four-?

"Not a thing."

"Alright." Peter conceded, throwing his hands in the air.

"You got me, hot shot. So considering I can't leave you alone, you wanna come drag boxes with me?"

Neal was silent now.

"Hm. Seems I stand corrected." Peter huffed. "Looks like you do have an off switch." Peter chuckled proudly as a still silent Neal glared back at him.

"That's what I thought." Peter replied to the silence. "Now, wait in the car. I'll be right back."

Neal watched Peter disappear into his former home, if it could even be called that, before fixing his attention on his new and improved surroundings.

While Neal could not deny his love of the finer things in life, he was certainly not going to complain about Peter's modest car. The Taurus was spacious and clean, smelling vaguely of leather and inexpensive cologne. Boxes of case files took up the entirety of the back seat and there was even a lone case file sitting right on the dashboard in front of him. It was his own.

The front of the manila folder read; 'James Bonds' with a slash through it and then Neal Caffrey, written in bold text directly underneath it. Neal smirked at that before shaking his head in amusement at the clever, if slightly naive, agent.

The rest of his examination proved rather uneventful. Although, Neal did find himself quite taken with the reclining lever that he spotted on the side of his seat. If only he could actually get to it. However, his hands were still a little- preoccupied, at the moment.

This led Neal to yet another dilemma. In contrast to the cooling outdoors, Neal found that the interior of the car was warm and comfortable enough. All except for the fact that Peter had forgotten to shut Neal's door before he left. Unfortunately, the harassing gusts of night air were not proving to be a friend of Neal's.

Hence, his moral predicament. Granted, Peter had done his best to help the unpleasant restraint situation, yet the fact of the matter remained: Neal was still in cuffs. Neal Caffrey; notorious, expert teenaged conman was still sitting there immobile, locked in cuffs. This was entirely unheard of.

Never mind the harm to his pride, the metal manacles had actually become quite bothersome in the recent hours. Considering the manner in which they were put on, Neal would have felt too pathetic admitting such weakness to Peter, especially considering that he had clearly done all he could to avoid such a situation. Yet, it was the case regardless.

He had been fine- for the first hour or two. But as time increased, the discomfort had become irritating, even maddening at times. After being hung by his arms from some time by taut metal cuffs, they had become justifiably sore and achy.

Having said arms then restrained behind his back for a significant period of time was certainly not helping any. However, regardless of the initial discomfort, Neal was more concerned with the fact that he had almost entirely lost feeling in his arms for close to a half hour now.

He had contemplated swallowing his pride and telling the agent. However, he consistently decided against it. He knew Peter wouldn't have been able to do anything significant about it, anyway. Not with an already irate Bancroft hovering nearby. It would have only made him more distressed and an aggravated Peter was not ideal given the already tense situation. No, Neal was smarter than that.

So he had simply sucked it up and waited. Waited for this precise moment, in fact. A moment when he would finally be alone.

He quickly scanned the area for a paper clip or a bobby pin to pick the locks, irritated that he had spent so much time engaged in an internal, moral dilemma. How long could it take for Peter to load some boxes?

His eyes landed immediately on his own file and the papers sticking up from it. Papers attached with tiny, metal clips. Bingo.

He turned his back and searched the dash blindly for the papers, before locating the clips that held them together. Quickly, he managed to detach a paper clip from a group of sheets before making sure to fold down their corners to keep them together. Neal noted that Peter had dog-eared some other groups of papers, so he doubted any suspicion would arise.

He swiftly set to work, bending the paper clip into the key hole and maneuvering it precisely where it needed to be-

_'Crap.'_

_'Is that a shadow?'_

_'Yep. And a shadow of a fatigued, 6'2 FBI Agent to be exact..'_

Neal quickly turned the paper clip, sighing in short-lived bliss as he felt the right cuff unclasp without delay. He then deposited the paper clip into his jeans' pocket before moving to stare ahead of him, back pressed flush against the seat.

With the door wide open, he could see the agent and clearly. And in turn, the agent now had full view of him. Neal tried to ignore the pestering feeling of guilt and apprehension that was suddenly forming in the pit of his stomach.

The feeling seemed to have a dual purpose; to berate him for what he'd done and warn him of what was ahead. Neal was uncertain of quite a lot at this moment. Yet there was one thing he was utterly convinced of. Peter was going to figure this out. And when he did, this wasn't going to end well.

WCWCWCWC

"God, that took longer than I expected." Peter approached Neal swiftly, running a weary hand down his face. "Oh, hell. Sorry." He said before quickly shutting Neal's door and making his way to his seat on the opposite side.

"You should have said something before I went in." Peter was looking at the silent, unmoving con quizzically now.

_'Why was this kid always acting so strange? Is this cause of the door?' _

"Hey, Neal. What's up?" He said, briefly nudging him on the shoulder. "You OK?"

Neal turned slightly, still attempting to keep his hands out of Peter's line of sight.

"Yeah. Fine. Why?" Neal said, hoping he hadn't spoken too hurriedly. He didn't want to raise any unnecessary suspicion. But he wasn't too worried. He had never been a poor liar in the past.

Yet, he would admit that he was a better liar in some situations than in others. Mainly situations not involving Peter..

It was strange, the agent always seemed able to see through him in a way that others simply couldn't. He was never before more fearful of that ability.

WCWCWCWC

Peter watched the boy stare at him, still unmoving in his seat. The agent could tell that something was going on. And he was going to get to the bottom of it. Neal had responded that he was fine, but Peter wasn't buying it for an instant.

_'Before I left,'_ Peter thought, utterly perplexed. _'We'd just been joking around like usual. Nothing about Neal's demeanor had seemed out of the ordinary then.'_

_'Well, that's obviously not the case anymore.' _He continued, a slew of questions assaulting his too exhausted mind._' He didn't even want to look at me before. Crap, he must be upset. What on Earth could have I done to make him this upset? Except - the door..' _Peter's gut was leading him the right direction and he furrowed his brow contemplatively. He was on to something.

_'Well, not the door being open, necessarily. But maybe it was the fact that he couldn't close the door..'_ Peter's hunch was becoming a tangible possibility now as he stared back at the suddenly troubled looking boy.

_'He couldn't close the door because of the cuffs..'_

"Hey Neal," Peter said bluntly, impulsively following his gut feeling. "Show me your hands."

"What? Peter?"

"And not behind your back, either." He said, motioning to the space in front of him. "Right here."

Neal hesitated for a long moment before slowly but surely bringing his hands out from behind his back, confirming the agent's suspicion.

Peter sighed heavily upon seeing them, running a hand down his tired features. But otherwise, he remained silent.

"Honestly, Peter," Neal said, tentatively breaking the somewhat eerie stillness. "I am so sorry."

While one part of the kid was fuming at how pitiful he sounded, the other was slightly proud. This wasn't just some artificial apology to stay out jail. For some odd, and unexpected reason, he genuinely meant it.

"It was impulsive, I know. I don't know why I did it. But I was wasn't going to run, I promise y-"

"Did they hurt?" Neal's apologetic rant was cut off suddenly by a low, yet collected, voice.

"No." Neal said immediately, slightly caught off guard. "Well.. not at first." He amended quickly, breaking eye contact with the older man.

"I mean, with time it became a little- uncomfortable. But it was only recently when I lost feeling in them-"

The older man stayed silent, yet there was an obvious change in his demeanor.

"But it doesn't matter" He added, quickly. "I'm an idiot. I really am sorry."

Neal continued to hang his head, fearing what was next. Similar to his father, Neal wasn't always on the right side of the law. But regardless, he'd always hoped that he had grown up to be more like his mother, personality-wise.

Neal always strived to be a decent person. To have the manners, compassion, and morality that his mother had always shown him, even during the worst of times. But he had cracked and the criminal inside him had won this round. He had failed her. And Peter, too.

"Here." Neal said, the silence going on for far too long. "I'll put it back on." Neal fumbled with the cuff for a moment, before a hand in front of him stopped him.

It was obvious why it had and Neal cringed inwardly. There was no way Peter was going to let him put on his own cuff. No, Peter was going to be the one to do it. And this time, he was going to do it right.

"So," Peter asked, his tone of voice unreadable. "Didn't have time to do the other one?"

Neal only nodded his response.

He watched in silence as Peter began to search through his pocket before pulling out a small, shiny object.

As he settled the object between his thumb and index finger, Neal could suddenly see it clearly. It was a key.

Before Neal could react, Peter took hold of his still-cuffed wrist with one hand, the other inserting the key to unlock the bracelet, removing it from the kid's arm with practiced precision.

"Peter.. what-?" Neal wasn't even attempting to hide his overt disbelief as he watched the agent calmly return both the key and the cuffs to their rightful places. Thankfully, far away from Neal.

Peter sighed then, before staring questioningly at the baffled boy in front of him. "Tell me something, do you think I'm just the worst person out there? Why on earth are you so shocked?"

Neal just glared at him. He was beginning to think this was some kind of set up.

"No. But, I don't get it. Why-"

"Neal," Peter interjected, cutting him off. "You're a smart kid. I didn't even want you cuffed in there. You thought I was gonna leave them on you once we left?"

Neal remained silent.

"I'm just sorry I didn't do it before I went to help Jones and Diana." Peter admitted to the silence. "I didn't know they'd been hurting you. Plus, who thought it'd take that long?"

The agent got no response.

" Plus," He said, overlooking Neal's blank expression." I thought it'd be best if no one was around. If Diana or Jones noticed, I wouldn't want to put them in a bad situation-"

Peter paused then, realizing that the kid was still just sitting there, unmoving like before.

"Neal, what's up?"

"What? I-I just don't get it." He admitted slowly. "I mean, why do you even care?" Neal's voice was quiet now and Peter felt something very unpleasant pang through his chest.

"I don't think you're asking the right questions here, Neal." Peter said, plainly. "What you should be wondering is why others wouldn't care." Peter's tone was very matter-of-fact and Neal felt an unexpected surge of respect for the agent.

"Oh." Neal said, more than a little stunned. "Thanks." He wasn't really sure what else he could say then. Nothing else really seemed to do.

"And you really don't need to keep thanking me." Peter responded, smiling slightly at the still befuddled looking kid. "I swear, I've never seen such manners in a conman before. I got to tell you, it's a little unsettling." Peter joked, not realizing the true weight of his words.

_Neal always strived to be a decent person. To have with the manners, compassion, and morality that his mother had always shown him, even during the worst of times._

Somehow, Peter's innocent words made him question whether he had actually achieved that.

"One other thing." Peter added, breaking through Neal's complex train of thought. Neal quickly registered that the look on the agent's face had changed to one far more serious. "You are not an idiot."

"What?" Neal asked, immediately confused.

"You said it earlier and it's not true." Peter said, simply. "You're the farthest thing from it, if you want my two cents. "

Neal quickly thought back to his previous dialogue. _"But it doesn't matter. I'm an idiot. I really am sorry." _

While it was on his mind, Neal's attention quickly shifted to the contract that his father had written. Soon enough, he began to clearly envision the horrific text he still so desperately wished to destroy. At first, he was annoyed that his mind had unwillingly taken him to such a dark place. Yet, on the other hand, he was too curious to ignore it.

Could Peter have also been referring to the oh so eloquent text in the parenthesis? The words that mentioned him by name.

_(Especially not the horrific Agent Burke that's on my tail because I am such an irresponsible idiot.)_

"And you shouldn't believe what other people tell you either, Neal." Peter said suddenly, lifting him from his train of thought. "You know yourself best."

Neal only nodded, his theory confirmed.

"Well after me, of course." Peter said, grinning slightly.

"What?" Neal asked, dazedly before the statement registered. "Oh." He added, smiling slightly. "In your dreams."

A/N - Next chapter coming really soon. -drumroll- They'll actually leave the property. About time, right? hehe. *backs away slowly*


	5. Chapter 5

"I already told you. No fruity jazz." Peter briefly took his hand off the wheel to swat at Neal's which was in far too close of a proximity to his radio.

"For your information, this is not jazz. It's reggae." Neal said, sounding overly appalled at Peter's inadequate music knowledge. " At least give it a shot. You need to be more cultured, Peter."

"Hey, I know of Bob Marley. He's sings reggae, right?" Peter said, smugly. "So give me a break."

"He does, actually. Ever heard his song, 'I Shot the Sheriff?'"

"Yeah." Peter said, curiously. "Why?"

"Oh. No reason." Neal grinned then and Peter glared at the boy before moving his hand to his waist in mock alarm.

"Where the heck did I put my gun?"

Neal laughed then and Peter couldn't help but smirk back at him. "Phew. It's still here." He sighed, dramatically. "Gotta keep my eye on you."

"And the road." Neal added, abandoning his post by the radio in favor of sitting back in his, now reclined, seat. "You know, just to change things up."

"Very funny. My driving is just fine, thank you very much."

Neal snorted then. "Whatever you say."

"Have to listen to driving advice from a fifteen old kid.. doesn't even have a license. Unbelievable-" Peter muttered.

"I can hear you." Neal interjected. "And who says I don't have a license?"

"The DMV won't even issue you a permit in New York until your 16."

"I didn't say I got it at the DMV."

Peter snuck a glance at the kid before turning his attention back to the road. "That could explain the fake license we found after you stole that Klimt in Vienna. What was the name on that thing? Steve Tabernacle, was it?"

"Allegedly stole that Klimt in Vienna. And wait, you know about Steve?"

"We know a lot of things." Peter said and Neal only huffed. "You better not be using that thing. You don't actually know how to drive."

"So? You use yours-"

"Neal."

"No, I don't actually use it. I just made it for the alias. Have to distract you guys somehow."

"But why give someone who doesn't actually exist a driver's license? That's ridiculous."

"Exactly."

"What?"

"You wouldn't expect it. Why would you try to catch someone off guard by doing something they'd expect?"

Peter only shook his head at the boy beside him. He couldn't exactly protest the logic behind that.

They had been driving for about fifteen minutes now and Neal marveled at how fast the time had gone. He couldn't recall ever feeling this content in the fifteen years that he'd lived in that unwelcoming apartment. Now, he had only been gone for fifteen minutes, and he'd never felt better. It was remarkable and a pestering part of Neal's heart warned him that he didn't deserve it.

"Almost there." Peter announced, stifling a yawn. "Only 'bout a minute or two away."

"Cool." Neal said, sounding more nonchalant than he felt. If he was being honest, he was a little nervous about staying in Peter's home. This was entirely uncharted territory for him and he was more wary than he'd expected.

Instead of focusing on his frustrating thoughts, Neal chose instead to avert his attention out the window, watching the rows of suburban Brooklyn townhouses appear in front of him before quickly disappearing into the distant night as they drove on by. He imagined Peter's house looking pretty similar.

"Does your wife know about me?" Neal heard himself ask. He had only just been thinking that. He hadn't really planned on saying it out loud.

"El? All too well." Peter chuckled, not seeming too startled by the blurted question. "I've been working on your case for years, Neal. Of course she knows about you. You're the reason I'm never home from work before dinner gets cold."

Neal turned from the window then, his face looking uneasy and slightly concerned.

"I'm exaggerating, Neal." Peter said, trying hard not to look amused by the boy's unnecessary concern. "She actually thinks very highly of you. She is a very smart lady, you know. She understands more about my work than a lot of people do."

He paused momentarily, unsure if what he was about to say was the most intelligent thing to do given who he was talking to. "She's mentioned a few times how insane it is that your only fifteen and yet you've managed to.. outsmart me for years. Fine, I said it. Have your fun."

Neal smiled haughtily at the agent and Peter only rolled his eyes in response. "I think I'm going to like your wife, Peter."

"Yeah. And she'll probably like you too." Peter reassured him. "She likes smart almost as much as I do. She also likes kids.. a lot more than I do."

Neal laughed then, feeling considerably less nervous. With nothing of consequence to do, he once again, averted his gaze out the window.

WCWCWCWC

"Here we are." Peter declared as he pulled into the driveway.

Neal was quickly lifted out of his mindless trance of empty thoughts and identical townhouses. He turned to look at the agent briefly before averting his eyes back out the window, fixing them on the house in front of him.

The exterior of Peter's home was precisely as he'd pictured it. It was clean, classy, quant and overtly peaceful looking. Oddly picturesque, really. Neal suddenly felt confident that he was going to like it here.

"Welcome to my humble abode." Peter quipped, not entirely registering just how happy Neal was to be here.

"I texted El earlier. She knows we were on our way." Peter said, turning to face Neal. He couldn't imagine how strange it must be to suddenly be thrown into an entirely new situation, in an unfamiliar home, with an FBI agent and a woman you don't from a hole in the wall. "Trust me, you have nothing to worry about."

Neal nodded, thankful for the unexpected reassurance. "Yeah, I know."

"Great." Peter said, moving to unlock the doors. "Then let's go. I'll grab your bag."

Peter exited the car first, popping the trunk and taking out Neal's bag. When he looked up, Neal was already standing there next to him, ready to go.

He shut the trunk before he made his way up the path to the door, Neal following close behind.

Without delay, he unlocked the door and pushed it open. Lord, it was good to be home.

"Peter." A sweet, yet overtly excited, voice could be heard from the next room. "Finally, you're home."

She immediately made her way over to the foyer, smiling as she greeted both her husband and her new, quite younger, visitor.

"Hey, hun. Yeah. I'm home. You wouldn't believe this day.."

"I can imagine." She said, pushing past him slightly. "But we can talk about it later, hun. I promise. First, I've got to see this."

El quickly approached the teen standing slightly behind Peter, a small smile on his face.

"Well, if it isn't the infamous Neal Caffrey, himself?"

"In the flesh, hun." Peter teased, moving to hang his coat in the closet, leaving his wife in the foyer with Neal.

"It's truly an honor, Mr. Caffrey." El said, holding out her hand. "You couldn't even imagine how much I've heard about you." The genuine smile on her face was contagious and Neal couldn't help but grin back, taking her hand in his.

"It's a pleasure, Mrs. Burke." Neal said, voice as polite as ever, and Peter made sure to theatrically roll his eyes.

"Oh shush, you." El said, waving a dismissive hand at the agent. "He's a doll." Peter wisely chose not to contest his wife, throwing his hands up in expectant defeat.

"And you can really call me Elizabeth or El," She said gently, reverting her attention back to the boy. "Whichever you prefer. Frankly, after all these years, there's no need for formality." Neal smile's only grew wider as he nodded at the overly kind woman.

"Come on in," she said, suddenly. "Make yourself at home." Taking his hand in hers once again, she lead him into the living room before plopping him down on the couch.

As she sat next to the boy, her hand still clasped within is, she felt an unexpected chill run up her spine as she quickly caught sight of his badly damaged wrists.

"Oh, you poor thing. You're a mess." She frowned deeply before taking a moment to look over at her husband. "Peter, look at this boy. No, this isn't going to fly in my house. Hun, go grab me the first-aid kit and wet a wash cloth, will you?"

"Alright, hun. I'm going." Peter sighed before turning to walk up the stairs.

"Wow. What a day this must have been, huh?" El said gently, examining the boy up and down. His neck was still red and his eyes were still slightly bloodshot from the whiskey's acidic burn. To top it all off, his clothes were an utter mess, reeking of cheap alcohol, and his wrists were an entirely different catastrophe, in their own right.

Yet, El didn't question any of it.

"Well, it doesn't matter now. What does matter is that we can fix you up. Don't worry about it."

Neal sat there feeling unable to do much more than stare at this woman. He just couldn't make sense of it. She'd known him for only a few minutes and yet, she was treating him like they'd been close all of his life.

"Um- I'm fine, really. You don't have to do that." He lied easily, feeling immensely undeserving of her unexpected kindness.

"Don't be silly. It's no trouble at all. Now, if my inept husband could get himself down here before dawn, that'd certainly be appreciated."

Neal smiled at that and El smiled back, startled by the unpredicted sweetness to his grin.

"I mean, I love him to death but if he could move himself, I certainly wouldn't complain." She jested, happy to have found common ground with the kid, even if did consist of joking about her husband. "He didn't bother you too much on the ride over, did he?"

"Not too much." Neal quipped back, feeling strangely at ease with this woman who was nearly a stranger to him. "I mean, except for his complete lack of appreciation for good music and his inability to look at the road for more than five seconds at a time, I'd say he was bearable enough."

El laughed and Neal felt a strange sort of happiness he hadn't felt in a very long time. "I know exactly how you feel, don't worry. In my car, sports channels do not exist. If you're not a fan of Chuck Berry or Ray Charles, you are quite out of luck, my friend."

"What? El, the Blues are my favorite." Neal said, almost giddily. "The 1950's were such a revolutionary time for music."

"Oh, Neal. We are going to get along just fine." She smiled then and Neal returned it, wondering how he'd managed to learn so much about Agent Peter Burke over the past years and yet, he knew virtually nothing about his magnificent wife. He had a feeling Peter did a lot to ensure that. After all, why would he want disgruntled, revenge-seeking criminals knowing too much about his family and their whereabouts?

At that moment, Neal's train of thought was halted by the sound of said agent's approaching footsteps.

"The items you requested, milady."Peter said, the sarcasm overly apparent.

"Thanks, hun. See, Neal? I ask him to do one thing and he gets all bent out of shape about it."

"I am hardly bent of shape.. Wait a minute, so this is what the two of you are gonna do when I'm not here? Just make fun of Peter. Ha ha, you're both very funny."

"No." Neal interjected, turning to look at the agent. "We'll do it while you're here too."

El laughed then, squeezing Neal briefly on the knee. "No fair." She said suddenly, averting her gaze to her husband's now incredulous glare. "All of the people I work with are complete duds."

Neal chuckled then and Peter just rolled eyes.

"Yeah, he's a real joy."

El shook her head, still smiling as she turned to examine the contents of the first aid kit before her.

"Hun," she said, gaze still downwards. "Can you get some Advil from the kitchen? I don't see any in here."

"Of course, master."

"That's what I like to hear."

As soon as Peter disappeared from the room, El looked up at the boy yet again. However, this time, overt concern curved the otherwise smooth contours of her face.

"Neal," She said, her voice slow and gentle. "I don't know what you went through and I'm not gonna ask. But, I do want to help you as best I can, okay? So please don't be afraid to tell me what's wrong."

She paused slightly, making sure she had the boy's full attention."I know you've been putting up a brave front while Peter's around, for whatever reason. Maybe it's some sort of male pride complex I'll never understand. But please, don't do the same with me."

Neal nodded after a small pause, slightly stunned. Yet nevertheless, he hoped she could sense his true appreciation. "Peter really wasn't kidding about you being smart." Neal said, voice quiet.

El smiled after a moment, before averting her gaze into the kit once again. "Huh. I knew there was a reason I keep him around."

Neal chuckled, wondering where on Earth Peter found this woman. It was obvious how much they cared for each other. The light jesting only made the fact that much more apparent. Peter Burke was certainly a lucky person. Honestly, they both were.

"I think we should do something about those wrists first." El announced, pulling Neal from his reverie.

"I have some Neosporin that should heal them pretty quickly. The cuts are still raw, so it may sting a little."

Neal nodded, feeling oddly safe with El. He could stand a little pain, as long as the cause of it wasn't intended to physically harm him.

Neal barely resisted the urge to pull his wrists back a little as old memories flickered through his mind in rapid succession.

He had assured himself that his father couldn't hurt him anymore. Yet, that didn't seem to stop his mind from summoning up incidents that would, hopefully, stay deep within his past now.

"Neal, are you alright?" El said, noticing Neal's brief hesitation.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry." Neal replied, angered with himself for coming across so weak.

"Just a- a bad memory." He added, hesitantly. "It wasn't you."

El nodded and Neal could easily see the unconcealed sadness and concern in her eyes. "Well, hopefully you'll make some good memories now." She said, patted his hand lightly. "All of that's in the past now, right?" El said, her words aiming to reassure the boy as she moved to carefully dab cream onto his damaged wrists.

"Yeah." Neal concurred, his voice contemplative. "I mean, aren't those the only ones worth having?"

"Huh." El said, looking up at the boy, a genuine smile curving her lips. "That's something Peter always says."

"Really?" Neal asked, oddly stunned by the observation.

"Yep." El said with a nod. "He really can be profound when he wants to be, believe it or not."

Neal chuckled then, realizing that for some odd reason, he actually did.

A/N - This is unrelated to the story but if anyone has HBO you should watch Matt tonight in his movie The Normal Heart at 9pm. I'm literally so excited for it. He's gonna be fantastic. I hear it's really sad though so don't forget tissues! :"/ P.s. there's a pic. that Tim ( TimDeKay) RT'd on tues. of him and Matt at the premiere of it where they're looking at Matt's phone or something I can't really tell. But anyway, if you want to see some cuteness check that out. :D Ah long A/N sorry..


	6. Chapter 6

"Why don't the two of you relax for a little?" El said, turning her attention to Peter. "I'll go make some snacks. How about tea and cookies? That's pretty quick."

"Oh, you really don't have to do that." Neal interjected promptly. "I don't want to keep you up-"

"Nonsense. It's no problem." She retorted, without delay. "I'm the wife of an FBI agent, Neal. It might as well be four in the afternoon. Trust me, I'm used to this." She chuckled then, looking over at the FBI agent in question, once again.

He, on the other hand, did not look too pleased.

"What? Is that not true?" She questioned, still smiling before moving to give him a quick kiss on the check. "I'll be right back."

Neal waiting until El had left the room before speaking. "Peter," He said, turning to face the man sitting beside him on the couch. "She's fantastic."

Peter laughed, slightly caught off guard by the candidness of the Neal's statement. "She really is." He said, nodding. "I do not deserve her."

Neal huffed, shaking his head. "Yes, you do."

Peter blinked suddenly, oddly touched by Neal's comment. Yet, he chose not to make that known.

"So, you feeling at least a little better?"

"Yeah, much better." Neal said, holding out his wrists so Peter could survey her work.

Peter quickly set about examining the boy, finding himself instantly delighted by the results. Neal's wrists had new bandages on them and the inflammation beneath them had gone down significantly. The redness around his neck had almost entirely disappeared and his eyes looked slightly dilated, but not bloodshot anymore. That was probably the cause of some sort of eye drop medication. Overall, the only other issue was Neal's sullied clothes which could be fixed quickly enough.

"Well, you look good to me." Peter said truthfully before turning to look around the room. "What'd I do with your bag? You should probably put on some clean clothes-"

"Wait, not so fast." El said, scurrying in from the kitchen. "You have to shower first, young man. Don't you touch any clean clothes until you do so. Peter, go show him where everything is."

Peter put his hands in the air, instantly. "Alright, sorry. I didn't realize."

El huffed, before turning to walk back into the kitchen.

"Well, the master has spoken." Peter smirked, standing up from his place on the couch. "Up."

"Okay, okay." Neal said, standing up and grabbing his bag before following Peter up the stairs.

"Since you have your bag with you, I'll show the guest room first. You can put your stuff down there."

Neal blinked quickly, severely caught off guard. _'Guest room? I didn't know there was a guest room. And even if there was, why would they want me to stay in it?'_

"Oh, I thought I'd be sleeping on the couch." Neal said, hastily. Considering he was supposed to be spending the next two nights in a juvie cell, he didn't feel entirely worthy of any sort of guest room. "I mean, I don't want to put you guys out."

"What? That's ridiculous." Peter said, barely registering Neal's comments. "What do you think a guest room's for?"

Neal just nodded, watching as Peter stopping at room down the hall. Well, if he didn't see a problem with it, Neal certainly wasn't going to contest the man.

"Here we are." Peter said, opening the door and motioning for Neal to go in first. "You can go on in."

As soon as Neal walked in, he immediately felt his eyes widen considerably and could only pray that Peter hadn't noticed.

The room was immaculately clean and evidently spacious. It bore no resemblance to the cramped space he occupied back in the apartment. As he looked around, his attention was immediately caught by the neatly made, queen sized bed complete with soft blue and white sheets and a glorious comforter, the kind Neal only saw in the windows of furnishing stores he could never even hope to enter.

There was a proper bedside table on the farthermost side of the bed, furnished with a clock and even a telephone. In the corner was a closet so wide, Neal suddenly felt very inadequate given his small amount of belongings. However, the true kicker was the sizeable television mounted to the wall in front of the bed. Neal had never had a television at home before, let alone in his room. The only time Neal could watch TV was when he walked by one in a convenience store or passed the window of an electronics shop.

However, the best part of the entire room would have to be the slew of windows. There were five of them, to be exact. Two of decent size on either side of the opposing walls and one fairly large, bay window that lined the back wall behind the frame of the bed. There was no hiding his justifiable amazement.

Pride be damned, Neal concluded, in absolute awe. He had to say something.

"Peter," He said slowly, still taking it all in. "I know you said to stop thanking you all the time," He paused, turning to meet the agent's gaze. "But this is unreal. I've never stayed in a room even remotely as nice as this. I mean- you saw my room. That's where I've been my whole life."

A odd, pained look seemed to flash momentarily across Peter's features before he moved to put a hand on one of the boy's shoulders. "Yeah, well it's about time you actually got something you deserve."

_'Deserve?' _Neal thought, feeling both touched and confused by Peter's comment. '_I've created more forgeries and allowed my father to con more people than I could count on all four of our hands. Is he crazy?'_

"Neal," Peter added, not giving him a chance to respond. "You didn't notice the best part." Peter smiled, moving his hand to gesture towards the corner of the room.

Neal felt himself grin wider than he had all day as he spotted his easel set up in the corner of the room. Even his paints were displayed neatly beside it. Peter must have done it while he was preoccupied examining the room.

"I love it." He said, without delay and Peter smiled proudly. Neal just stood there for a moment admiring how much more presentable the gift looked all set up in an equally as presentable room. He truly wished his mother could see this.

"So," Peter said, pulling Neal from his trance. "The bathroom's right down the hall. There's a linen closet in there and you can use any of the towels, just put it in the hamper after. And you should throw your clothes in their too, I guess. Um, there's shampoo, conditioner, soap.. oh, and I'll put a new tooth brush by the sink. Is that everything?" Peter asked, brow furrowed contemplatively.

"Yeah, it is." Neal assured him, not missing a beat.

"Great." Peter said, turning to leave. "Let us know if you need anything else. We'll both be right downstairs."

"OK, thanks." Neal said as he watched the agent disappear from the room that, for the next couple of days, was apparently _his_. As much as he needed to shower, he suddenly felt the pressing desire to just lie down on the bed and gaze outside of the windows for as long as he possibly could. But he had a feeling there'd be time for that later, when he didn't smell like the inside of a cheap liquor store.

_'Yeah,' _Neal concluded, scrunching his noise at the unpleasant stench. _'A shower actually sounds pretty good right about now.'_

WCWCWCWC

"Peter," El said, her voice slightly hesitant as she moved to sit down on the living room couch. "I didn't want to ask Neal. I figured, why upset him further by making him relive it, but-?"

"You want to know what happened, don't you?" Peter asked, sitting beside his wife on the couch.

"Yeah." El agreed reluctantly, sounding vaguely disappointed in herself. "You don't think he'd mind if you told me, right?"

"No," Peter said, shaking his head. "I don't see why he would. He really seems to like you, El."

She smiled then, trying not to look too pleased. "You think so?" She said, leaning in a little closer to her husband. "I really hope so." She continued, not waiting for a response.

"I gotta admit, I am genuinely taken by the kid. We have so much in common and he really is smart, Peter. Oh, and so polite and considerate.. I wasn't expecting that."

"Strange for a teenager, I know."

"And a criminal." El said quietly and Peter only nodded. "I can't even imagine all the hell he's been through."

"Yeah," Peter responded. He had a feeling this was her not-so-subtle cue for details. "You really want to know?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Alright." He began, somewhat hesitantly. He wasn't too keen on reliving this himself, but he knew it was better he did it, than Neal.

"Well, we found some sort of contract between him and his father in the apartment. All written in his Bruce's handwriting, of course. Except for Neal's signature. The contract basically stated that Neal had to create any forgery that he requested and in return, and I quote, he will 'keep him alive.'

".. Oh my god. That bastard."

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to know." Peter said, pausing slightly in thought. "Apparently, for whatever reason, Neal didn't get him his latest painting on time and Bancroft had a hunch that it's got something to do with not being able to get all of the necessary supplies. I'm not really sure why."

"Why don't you just ask Neal?"

"That's not why he's here, hun."

"I know, I know. Sorry." She paused, about to let him continue, before a thought struck here. "Wait, why were you even there in the first place?

"Well NYPD contacted us because Neal's downstairs neighbor called about an odd noise that they thought had something to do with his alleged escape plans. But when I got to the scene," Peter said, pausing briefly. "He was handcuffed to a metal bar.." He paused yet again, running a hand down his face. "Long story short, while he was handcuffed, by the world's tightest restraints, mind you." Peter sighed, tone nearly as irate as before. "His father threw a glass bottle of whiskey at him, El."

"No.."

"Yes."

"And- and they made you arrest him?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, hun."

"Hey, don't feel sorry for me. Neal's the one who went through the real hell."

El nodded thoughtfully, her hands tight around his arm. "We need to help him, Peter."

"I know." Peter said, quickly. "He's just a kid."

"Yeah." El nodded her agreement. "But I think it's more than that."

"What do you mean?"

"I think you actually like the kid, hun."

Peter paused at that, seeming to genuinely reflect on that concept.

"I mean, yeah.." He said tentatively, admitting that fact to himself for the first time out loud. "I think I might."

"Ha. I knew it." El said, urging him to continue.

"I don't know why." The agent sighed, seeming lost in thought. "I mean, a part of me could not be more annoyed by the kid, sometimes. But then another part of me.. I don't know."

"Yeah, you do know. Another part of you.."

Peter paused for a moment, knowing the answer full well. "Respects him." Peter finished, this time his voice was assured and El smiled.

"I've just never been outwitted by any other con for such a long period of time before. He can really be sharp when he wants to be, hun."

El only nodded.

"I think it's cause.. he's actually _real_, you know?" Peter added, on his own accord. "He's not arrogant or bigheaded- and he's never been violent. Terminally fearful of guns, actually." Peter said with a snort and El laughed.

"Hey, another thing we have in common."

"True." Peter said, chuckling slightly. "Plus, he's not intimidated by me, El. At all." Peter continued, voice pensive.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, usually we'll just go back and forth and berate each other about some nonsense or another. And I was convinced that after I offered for him to stay here, that all of that would be different. I thought he might suddenly act all quiet and compliant. A real butt-kisser, you know?"

"And you didn't want that?" El laughed shortly.

"Of course not." Peter said, looking almost offended. "You know that I can't stand it when people are phony."

El nodded, conceding his point. "Well, apparently Neal hates that too."

Peter turned to face his wife, feeling oddly liberated. "Yeah." He said, simply.

"I mean he's clearly smart, and yes, he can be kind when he wants to be." Peter continued. "But most importantly, he's _real_. And that's what I like about the kid."

"Hun." El said, patting her husband playfully on the arm. "I think you just had a breakthrough."

"Yeah, only took two years." Peter said, leaning his head back slightly.

El paused then, seeming thoughtful herself. "Don't you want to just- help him? I don't know." She said, voice frustrated now. "Just make everything okay?"

Peter sighed deeply then, rubbing a weary hand down his face. "Why do you think he's here?"

El turned slightly, smiling up at her husband. He could be such a softie sometimes.

WCWCWCWC

About a half hour had passed before Neal emerged from the bathroom, feeling the cleanest he'd felt in all of his fifteen years. At home, he'd never take showers for more than five minutes, really. The water pressure was terrible, there was little to no hot water, and his father would get irate if he was in there for too long, complaining about the water bill that he never paid, anyway.

But here, with the water as hot as he could stand and the pressure just right, Neal found himself just standing under the running water for what felt like hours. The temperature of the water helping to loosen the many painful kinks that had been harassing him all day. Plus, his hair was actually soft now and the foul whiskey smell was gone entirely, replaced by a pleasant smelling soap.

Towel securely around his waist, Neal made his way to the guest room. He quickly took his few pieces of clothing out of the bag, placing them into a dresser drawer. He didn't really own any conventional pajamas so he chose to simply put on sweatpants and a t-shirt, instead.

Towel and unclean clothes in hand, Neal made his way into the hall, dropping the items into the hamper before slowly approaching the stair case to make his way back downstairs. As he neared the last few steps, he realized that he could hear soft voices coming from the living room. Peter and El seemed to be talking. Wait a minute. They weren't just talking, he concluded, hearing his name mentioned briefly. They were talking about him.

For some reason, he felt a pressing desire to attend to what they were saying, to know for certain whether they were actually okay with his staying here, or not. Neal knew that he wouldn't be able to live in another home where the occupants were disturbed by his very presence. He'd rather stay in jail for the rest of his life than endure that yet again.

Knowing it was wrong even as he did it, Neal slowly crouched down on the step he was currently stopped out and he listened. He listened to every soft-spoken word right until the very end.

_"Don't you want to just- help him? I don't know.. just make everything okay?"_

Neal heard Peter sigh at his wife's inquiry and he could almost envision him rubbing a hand down his face.

_"Why do you think he's here?"_

Neal could only hope that the couple hadn't heard him gasp slightly at their unexpected words. He could only pray that they couldn't see the single tear running down his cheek, without his permission. And he could only trust that they didn't know - couldn't know - that for the first time since he was eight years old, Neal remembered what it felt like to have people care.

~~Thank you for reading and reviewing! *heart emoji*~~


	7. Chapter 7

Neal chose to wait a few extra moments, still perched on the rung, before descending the rest of the stairs. He remained there, in no particular hurry, until suddenly he heard the click of the TV going on and the hushed voices cease.

He stood up slowly before continuing the short walk down. As he turned into the living room, he quickly spotted Peter sitting alone on the couch, remote in hand and eyes fixed on the screen before him.

"Watcha watching?" Neal asked, slightly startling the checked out agent.

"Neal." Peter registered the source of the voice and turned to face him. "Oh, just some old Yankees highlights. Care to join me?" He asked, moving over on the couch so Neal could sit down.

"Why not?" Neal replied before moving to sit in the proffered seat. "I'm not the biggest sports fan but I guess the Yankees don't suck all the time."

Peter turned to glare at the boy as if he'd just been personally insulted. Yet, once he did so, he suddenly lost all will to be upset, even in any unserious capacity.

The boy actually looked clean and presentable for the first time all day. The seemingly permanent grime and streaks of dirt were gone and the disconcerting blood stains had disappeared entirely, as well. Plus, the smell of booze had vanished, substituted by the familiar smell of soap.

"You look like an entirely new man." Peter joked, marveling not only at the boy's new-found cleanliness, but strangely enough, at how much younger he seemed to look now.

Neal only shrugged, not used to the unfamiliar, albeit complimentary, attention.

"Oh my, you look so handsome." Neal turned at the sound of El's voice, feeling a faint blush creep up on him.

"Thanks, hun." Peter said, grinning and El waved a dismissive hand at her husband, trying hard to keep her composure.

"Oh. Um, thanks." The unexpected flattery still felt foreign to Neal, yet he wasn't one to ignore it.

El smiled at him, turning to walk back into the kitchen. "Oh, the cookies are almost ready." She called behind her before disappearing with the room.

Registering her words, Neal suddenly found himself conscious of the looming smell of flour, dough and chocolate chips.

"El bakes?" Neal said overtly excited about the concept. When she had mentioned the possibly of cookies before, he had figured they would be store bought.

"Yep." Peter said, flipping channels distractedly. "One cookie can make you gain five pounds. But trust me, they are definitely worth it."

"I believe you." Neal chuckled and Peter turned from the un-riveting program he'd been testing out to face the boy. However, he wasn't looking at Peter anymore. Instead, his gaze was fixed on the yellow Labrador running excitedly towards him.

"What? Peter?" Neal said, getting to his knees immediately to greet the eager looking pup. "I didn't know you had a dog."

"Yeah." Peter said, smiling proudly at his far too energetic, fun-loving pet. "I guess he just woke up. His name's Satchmo. You know the-"

"The jazz legend, Louis Armstrong?" Neal finished, beaming. "You're kidding me."

"Yeah, well it wasn't me." Peter said, raising his hands in the air. "I had nothing to do with it."

"Nothing to do with what?" El said, suddenly re-appearing in the living room.

"Naming Satchmo." Peter answered. "Neal's rather taken with the name."

"Are you a fellow jazz lover, Neal?" There was an unmistakable glint of excitement in her eyes.

"Of course. It's really a guilty pleasure of mine." He admitted, looking up from the pup momentarily. "Louis Armstrong has always been a favorite."

"Oh my g- Finally. Someone who has an actual appreciation for quality music. I have to show you some of my records sometime." El announced, grinning. "The amount of Blues and Jazz music that remains un-played in this house, due to a certain somebody, is disgraceful.." El turned to look pointedly at her husband.

Peter groaned, hanging his head in his hands. "The two of you better not gang up on me now. The last thing I need is Bob Marley blasting all over this house. I am way too tired."

"That's reggae, Peter." Neal and El's simultaneous answer was too much for Peter who just groaned again before conceding his defeat. "It's already happening."

El was shaking her head at her amusing husband before she turned to address the boy beside him. "Oh, right. Neal, sweetie, would you like sugar in your tea?"

Neal stopped petting Satchmo almost instantly as he moved to look up at the woman, slightly startled.

'_Did she just call me sweetie?' _Neal wondered immediately, his heart warming in a strange, unexpected way.

"Um- yes, please." He said, suddenly, realizing his momentary lack of a response. She nodded, not seeming to have detected his apparent hesitation before turning to walk back into the kitchen.

Yet, while she may not have noticed, the ever-attentive Agent Burke certainly did.

Neal was sitting almost motionless now, his hand still limp on Satchmo's back, mind clearly lost in thought.

"Everything okay?" Peter moved from his spot on the couch to sit down beside Neal and a tail-wagging Satchmo.

"Yeah." Neal instantly put an end to his thoughts as he turned to meet the agent's questioning gaze. "Why?"

"I don't know." Peter said, moving to scratch behind an eager Satchmo's ears. "You seemed a little shaken by El's- comment."

"Oh." Neal said, feeling a wave of guilt wash over him immediately. "I didn't mean to be rude or anything. Do you think she noticed?"

"No." Peter answered, chuckling slightly at how unnecessarily frantic he seemed. "She didn't notice."

Neal only nodded, seeming hesistant.

"If it's a problem," Peter continued, quickly realizing that he was going to have to carry this conversation on his own. "I could tell her that you'd just prefer 'Neal'. Really, she won't be offended-"

"What? No." Neal quickly turned to face the older man. "No, it's not a bad thing." He said, finally. "I was just.. a little caught off guard." He paused momentarily, looking pensive. "That's just- that's what my mom used to call me."

Peter turned now, meeting the boy's worried gaze. He looked oddly exposed, vulnerable. Like he'd said something he wished he hadn't.

"Ah." Peter replied, the pieces finally clicking into place. "Well, that's understandable, Neal. I bet that brought up some old memories for you."

"Yeah." Neal said, his ashamed look vanishing almost entirely. "But they were good memories."

Peter smiled then before squeezing Neal's shoulder briefly. "That's good." He said reassuringly before resuming his petting of a significantly quieter Satchmo. "You know what I always say?" He asked, clearly rhetorically.

Neal paused for a moment, remembering El's earlier observation. He briefly debated whether or not he should answer.

"I don't know." Neal said, smiling slightly, his mind made up. "That those are the only ones worth having?"

"Yeah.." Peter said, looking up immediately. "How did you-?"

Neal laughed then, running his hand over Satchmo's now limp back.

"I say the same thing."

When El returned from the kitchen a few minutes later, she had great difficulty not smiling at the scene before her.

The TV was on, displaying some sort of baseball game that Peter had probably seen a million times before. He was sitting on the couch, remote held high above his head as he pretended to watch the game, unbothered by the teen next to him.

Neal, on the other hand, was on his knees on the couch stretching to grab at the remote which was quite a bit out of his reach. While Satchmo, unaware of the commotion, remained asleep in silent bliss at the foot of the couch.

"Peter, c'mon. This is so not fair-"

"Hey, behave." El announced her presence, trying hard not to laugh at how fast both heads snapped to attention.

"Oh, I'll get that for you." Neal offered, noticing the tray of snacks and presumably hot tea that she was balancing. He quickly hopped off the couch, taking it from El's hands before gently putting it down on the coffee table.

El watched in surprise for a moment before striding over to the couch and reaching up to pluck the remote out of her husband's hand. "Guest's choice." She grinned proudly before handing the remote to a similarly grinning Neal.

"Thank you, El."

"You're very welcome, Neal. Now eat." She said, pointing to the tray.

"Unbelievable." Peter sighed, mourning the loss of his treasured remote control. "Really, hun? Over your own husband?"

"Sorry, Peter. He's just such a sweetheart. I had to."

Neal smiled into his cup of tea, feeling a slight redness tint his cheeks.

"Yeah, he's a real peach."

El chuckled slightly before picking up a still sleeping Satchmo in her arms. "I'm gonna go put Satch to bed. You boys behave."

WCWCWCWC

"What kind's yours?" Neal questioned, carefully inspecting his cookie.

"Chocolate chip, I think." He said, his gaze lost to the TV. He wasn't particularly interested in the History Channel's 'Masterpieces of the Middle Ages - Metropolitan Museum of Art' segment that Neal had chosen. Yet where Peter came from, even boring television was still better than no television at all.

Neal sighed before quickly snatching the cookie Peter was about to eat out of his hand. "You can have mine." He said, handing him his own. "Thought it was chocolate."

Peter just rolled his eyes, taking a bite of the cookie now in his hand. "You really have a thing for the finer things in life, don't you?"

"Not always." Neal protested. "I just- they looked like chocolate chips." He sighed, sounding defeated. "Oatmeal raisin's the reason I have trust issues."

The agent chuckled, shaking his head at the peculiar con. "You are seriously one odd kid."

"Yeah? Says who?" Neal replied easily, not the least bit shaken by the insult. "You know, a wise man once told me that I know myself best."

Peter turned over then, slightly stunned that his words had actually resonated with boy. But Neal didn't seem to be paying it as much attention as he busily inspected each cookie, attempting to separate the raisin ones from the chocolate chip.

"How is it that you can spot the slightest flaw in a master forgery in about two seconds.." Peter pointed out, shaking his head. "Yet, this is a challenge?"

"It's a process, Peter." Neal responded with a smirk, taking a bite of the cookie he'd just selected.

Peter made of a show of rolling his eyes, before averting his gaze back to the television.

"Alright, you two." El's voice was loud and clear as she walked into the living room. It's almost midnight. You have to go to sleep eventually."

"I don't know, hun." Peter said, stretching slightly. "Think I'm too high strung to sleep."

"Yeah, well you can't just stay watching television all night. Really, Peter. At least try to set a good example."

"Honestly, Peter. At least try." Neal berated, quite dramatically. The agent turned his head immediately to scowl at the innocently grinning boy beside him.

"El, I'll bring the tray into the kitchen, if that's okay." Neal piped up, his offer genuine. He really did like El. His kindness was not solely based around riling up Peter.

"Of course it's okay. Thank you, Neal. That is very thoughtful." El said, turning to shoot a look at a less helpful Peter before turning away.

"My wife's going to kill me cause of you."

Neal chuckled, organizing the leftovers on the tray, before standing up. "Peter, you're so overdramatic, honestly."

"Yeah, so I've been told."

Neal snorted, having forgotten his previous comment to Peter about his dramatics. "Huh. And speaking of which, you still have yet to see the light of day. Interesting."

Peter smirked then before asking for the second time that night, "Where the heck did I put I put my gun?"

Neal chuckled, tray in hand, before turning to meet El in the kitchen.

Thank you for reading. :D Reviews as well as suggestions and ideas and all that good jazz are always appreciated!


	8. Chapter 8

Neal was tired. Neal was very tired. And yet, Neal couldn't sleep at all.

The house was peaceful, his room was quiet and the plain white ceiling above him remained predictably uneventful.

Everything about his surroundings urged him to sleep, and yet, it alluded him nonetheless.

Neal was thinking. And the number one enemy of blissful sleep had always been his thoughts.

And his father.

And his father's rage.

And his father's temper.

And every time he'd barged into the house during the middle of the night drunk and out of his mind.

And every time he'd lost control and Neal had made the unfortunate error of being in his room - asleep.

And every time he'd heard the stomp of feet outside of his door and he prayed that his room had windows for more reason than one.

No.

How could Neal sleep?

So he simply waited. He waited for the stomp of his father's footsteps, the sound of the slamming door, the slur of whiskey-inhibited words, and the chill that ran up his spine at the screech of his door being thrown open.

He waited for the cuffs, too. Waiting for them to appear, tight on his wrists. To find himself being hung from some furnishing or another. Waited to be hurt. To be horribly abused.

But it didn't happen.

None of it happened.

Then again, he had yet to close his eyes.

Neal sighed. He tossed and he turned in the soft, inviting sheets and then he sighed once again. He thought this would be so easy. He was finally in his own, welcoming room, in a house that was actually safe, with people who truly seemed to care. And yet, it wasn't easy. Neal had never had anything handed to him in his entire life. He had always provided for himself and attempted to protect himself. All on his own. No one had ever done it for him. His mother tried her best. He knew that. But she got sick very early and Neal found himself growing up faster than he'd ever expected to.

Neal couldn't accept this. He had done nothing for the Burkes. He had not given them one thing in return for their kindness. He had always been a strong believer in getting what you worked for. What you deserved. And he did not deserve this.

Peter and El were going to wake up tomorrow and realize that they didn't want him here. That they had their own problems and didn't need some criminal, teenaged mooch invading their lives.

Nobody needed Neal in their lives.

The couple would wake up tomorrow, see Neal and it would suddenly register that they'd made a terrible mistake. Just like his father had.

Unless, they didn't.

If, of course, he wasn't here.

Before Neal could think further, he jumped out of bed, nearing the closed door.

He paused however, momentarily wondering whether or not he should take anything with him. Would packing make too much noise? Did he really need his meager amount of clothing? Did he need - the easel?

Neal stopped instantly, turning to face the object in question.

Suddenly, he found himself sad. A spine curling, stomach lurching type of sad. And it wasn't due to the prospect of leaving behind his gift.

_"You didn't notice the best part." Peter smiled, moving his hand to gesture towards the corner of the room._

_Neal felt himself grin wider than he had all day as he spotted his easel set up in the corner of the room. Even his paints were displayed neatly beside it._

What about Peter?

Neal sighed at the happy memory, running a tired hand through his hair.

Neal wasn't oblivious. He knew it must not have been easy to arrange this deal. He knew Bancroft was certainly not too pleased with it. If Neal ran, Peter's job would be on the line. And Peter's job affected El too..

Neal shook his head slowly, making his way back to the bed he was in no way worthy of. He couldn't do that. He wasn't as cruel as the man who claimed to raise him. And he never would be.

He paused at the foot of the bed monetarily before slowly but surely sinking back down into it. He re-focused his attention on the plain, white ceiling once again, still unable to find sleep. His thoughts were testing their luck. The still darkness serving as a welcome mat for every unsolicited memory he could envision.

_'Can't you just be a good little boy for five seconds and put a sock in it? I'm begging you.'_

_'Well here's a new motto for you. I will shut up more often because Peter is going to start banging his head against the wall.'_

_'You're the reason I'm never home from work before dinner gets cold.'_

_'_Evidently, teenage cons do not come with an off switch.'

_'My wife's going to kill me cause of you.'_

Neal clasped his eyes shut for the first time all night as he attempted to block out the harrowing thoughts. But Peter had only said those things in jest, right?

Neal opened his eyes quickly then, fearing the darkness and what usually came with it. He got up once again and walked to the door, putting his hand securely around the knob. Before a very different recollection stopped him.

_'Why do you think he's here?'_

And Neal had to move his hand away. He remembered the security and unfamiliar joy he'd felt from the heartfelt comment and suddenly he'd turned around.

Within moments, he once again found himself in the inviting, yet peculiarly uninviting, bed.

He would see how Peter and El felt in the morning. He had always been skilled at reading people in the past. If they looked like they didn't want him here, he'd tell them that he'd rather leave. They would be happy. They would have their normal, con-free lives back and Neal would be sent to juvie where he belonged. Unless, of course, they wanted him to stay.

Neal closed his eyes, slowly this time, struck by the same lingering warmth he'd felt a mere few hours earlier, crouched down on the stair.

Suddenly, the bed felt softer, the room was even stiller, the ceiling's emptiness became hugely uninteresting and his thoughts quieted significantly.

This time, Neal was with good people in a place he could actually feel at home.

This time, Neal couldn't run.

WCWCWCWC

Neal tip-toed down the carpeted stairs. It was eight in the morning and he was being as quiet as a mouse. He doubted the Burkes would be up this early on a Saturday. And frankly, he was glad. He said he'd wait to see how Peter and El felt in morning and he was a man of his word. However, now that the morning had actually come, he planned to avoid encountering the couple and their telling stares for as long as he could.

Yet, as he walked through into the dining room and saw a newspaper that couldn't possibly be supporting itself in midair, Neal knew that he was out of luck.

"Neal." The agent's voice came instantly as he lowered the newspaper he was reading onto the table. His tone of voice seemed to match the smile that he was wearing and Neal couldn't help but pray it was sincere.

"Didn't expect to see you up this early. You sleep OK?"

"Yeah, I did. Thanks." Neal answered genuinely as he moved to sit down, still watching the agent carefully. Peter's demeanor didn't seem in any way harsh or out of the ordinary. If anything, he looked more restful and at ease now.

"Um, I usually get up around now." Neal continued, trying to block out the unwelcome memory of waking up far earlier than he would have liked in order to collect supplies and work on forgeries expected by Sunday. Every Sunday. At 10 a.m. precisely.

"I'm usually busy."

"Oh." Peter said, brow furrowed and Neal could tell that the agent knew why. "Alright. Well, I think El's making breakfast now. She was worrying about making the wrong thing. Is there anything specific you like? Maybe we have it."

"No. Not really." Neal didn't even remember the last time he had a proper breakfast. He certainly couldn't have a favorite. He paused in thought for a moment then, suddenly registering the earlier part of Peter's comment. Had El actually worried about whether or not he'd like what she was cooking? After all, she didn't have to make him anything to begin with.

"Does she need any help?"

"How should I know?" Peter snorted. "I always offer to help and I always get kicked out just as fast. _'Peter, don't touch the food. It's not done yet.' 'Peter, you're stirring that too quickly, it's going to get everywhere.' 'Peter, that's a spatula, not a whisk.' 'Peter, get out of my kitchen.'_

Neal laughed at the agent's un-skilled, yet albeit entertaining, interpretation of his wife and his unsurprisingly poor cooking skills. "But you could try asking her if you want."

"Okay, cool." Neal attempted to wipe off his smile before turning to walk into the kitchen. He couldn't risk El asking what exactly was so funny.

WCWCWCWC

Upon entering the kitchen, Neal could see El hovering in front the stove top, spatula in hand. He could instantly smell the sweet scent of flour and batter radiating throughout the kitchen. Neal had no ability to remember the last time he had pancakes.

"Good morning, El. Need any help?"

"Oh, Neal, sweetie." El turned around quickly. "You scared me." She grinned at the boy, swatting at some flour that had found its way onto her apron. "How'd you sleep? I'm making pancakes. You like those, right?"

Neal smiled back, feeling far more relaxed then he'd expected to this morning. "I slept great. And yes, I like pancakes. Who doesn't?"

"This is true." El chuckled, returning his smile and Neal could sense how genuinely pleased she seemed to be about making the right choice.

"Do you need any help?"

El was still grinning as she moved to pick up both the spatula and the whisk in either hand. "Depends. Which one's the spatula?"

Neal pointed to the correct kitchen appliance, trying hard not to laugh.

"Well, that's a relief." El chuckled. "Apparently, this isn't common knowledge." She pointed towards the dining room and Neal couldn't help but laugh now. "Of course you can help."

El and Neal finished making breakfast in under ten minutes and El couldn't believe how much fun it was to cook side by side with someone else. Especially, someone who actually knew what they were doing.

"Get that thing off the table, hun." El announced her presence in the dining room as she pointed to the newspaper in front of her husband. "Neal's going to help me set the table."

A few moments later, Neal emerged into the room with plates and utensils in hand. "El where do you usually sit?" El pointed the way and in few moments Neal had set all three places. El on the side closest to the kitchen, Peter across from her and Neal in the seat next to him.

"So," Neal began, watching from his seat as El put the food down on the table. "Why are you guys up so early?"

El chuckled at the question as she began to fill all three glasses with orange juice. "I'm an event planner, Neal. I work on the weekends."

"Oh." Neal had only just realized that he had no idea what El did for a living. Though with her exceptional grasp of the finer things and overtly likeable personality, he couldn't say he was too surprised by it. "That seems like the perfect job for you. Event planners need great taste."

"Aw thank you, sweetie." El sat down, gaze fixed on the boy. "The event is actually in a couple of hours. I've been meeting with the client for months now to get everything just right. Hopefully, it's a hit."

"What type of event is it?"

"Wait. I wouldn't tell him that, hun." Peter chuckled as he drowned his pancake in syrup. El only waved a dismissive hand at him in response.

"It's the grand opening of the new art gallery at NYU."

"Oh my god, El. That's one of the city's most anticipated events.. It's all anyone's been talking about since they first came up with the idea." Neal stopped cutting his pancake to look up at the woman. "You're planning that?"

Neal could swear he saw El blush slightly but he wasn't too sure.

"Yeah, she is. Everyone in the city wants my El for their events." Peter answered, grinning at the now definitely blushing woman.

"Not true." El cleared her throat as she began to cut her food. "But yes, it was definitely a privilege to do this event. It was a lot of fun too." El was smiling now as she reached for a brochure at the far end of the table. "You have to see some of the pieces that they're going to display. They are just remarkable."

Neal took the brochure eagerly and began to look through it.

"Wait." Neal looked up, his finger pointing to something in particular on the current page. "Is that Arshile Gorky's 'Flowers in a Pitcher'?

"Yes." El was practically grinning into her orange juice. "Can you believe they have that there?"

Neal was shaking his head in awe when Peter piped in.

"What's so spectacular about it? It's flowers - in a pitcher. Give me a break."

"Hun, it's so much more than that, though. His attention to detail and grasp on abstract art made it renowned worldwide. It's a classic."

Peter took the brochure out of Neal's hand, examining the picture. "Alright, I guess it's nice." He conceded, taking in the intricacy of the design. "I sure as hell couldn't do that."

"No, sir. And it's my favorite so don't mock it. I wish I could just snatch it off the wall and talk it home with me."

"Neal, maybe you could give her some pointers."

"Peter!"

"It's a joke, hun. It's a joke. Calm down."

Neal only shook his head, unbothered by Peter's harmless comment. After all, his mind was focused elsewhere. As he listened to El explain more about the event and the pieces that were being displayed, an idea struck him.

He certainly needed to repay the Burkes for their hospitality, didn't he?

Yes, of course he did.

This was El's favorite painting and she was going to get it.

And Neal was going to be the one to give it to her.


	9. Chapter 9

Neal's mind was in an complete uproar, yet his smile remained a mile long, nonetheless.

He had a plan. A very detailed plan, in fact. He was going to surprise El something with she could truly cherish. Something that she could have to remember him by forever.

Her favorite _Gorky _painting, of course.

"Neal," Peter snapped his fingers directly in front of Neal's face, startling the now re-focused boy. "Neal, did you hear me?"

"What? Oh. No, I didn't. Sorry." Neal blinked suddenly, attempting to briefly put aside his thoughts and actually attempt to focus on the befuddled looking agent in front of him.

"I asked what you wanted to do today." Peter looked at the boy quizzically. "You look like you're in an entirely different world. Care to share?"

"Uh - no. I mean, it's nothing. Really."

"Uh huh." Peter replied, still not looking entirely reassured. "So, got any ideas?"

Neal thought about the question for a moment. He certainly couldn't tell Peter about his true plans for the day. "I don't really care." Neal lied effortlessly. "What do you want to do?"

"Well, it's Saturday. I want to watch the game. But I doubt you'd want to-"

"No, no. That's perfect. I mean -" Neal tried to slow down his now hurried voice. He didn't want his true anticipation to show through. "It's really nice out." Neal amended, commencing the first part of his plan. "If it's okay, I-I might go for a run."

"Oh." Peter furrowed his brow, contemplatively. On the one hand, this idea did seem reasonable. This way, both of them could do what they liked instead of having to accommodate each other all day. Yet, on the other hand, the idea was entirely ludicrous. Could Peter really let Neal out of his sight to go gallivanting around the city by himself? He could catch some real hell for that if Bancroft ever found out.

No, Peter couldn't do that. He couldn't risk his job by letting the boy out of his supervision for even a moment.

But then Peter remembered the windows. Or rather, the blatant lack thereof. He remembered Neal's small closet-like room with the one little lamp and the depressing, dehumanizing lack of connection with the outside world. He also recalled the look of pure delight on Neal's face as he'd perused the quite different lay out of the guest room. He had probably stared out of the bay window for at least an entire minute.

"Um- yeah." Peter answered suddenly, shaking the memory from his mind. "Yeah, go out and have fun." The words came out hesitantly, but Peter's expression was sincere.

"Really?" Neal's face instantly lit up with unexpected satisfaction. That had been far too easy.

"Sure." Peter sounded more confident now. He'd presumably sensed the boy's genuine delight. "Just don't rob any banks while you're out." Peter joked and Neal laughed easily. After all, he wasn't robbing any banks.

"But Neal," Peter's look was far sterner now as he made direct eye contact with the boy who seemed far too eager to leave.

"Don't forget rule two."

Neal paused for an instant, meeting the agent's gaze. "I know, Peter. I know. I will not run because you will catch me and it will not end well for me." The boy drawled out. "I got it."

"Alright. You better." Peter lifted a finger pointedly at the boy before moving to take his seat down on the couch, remote instantly in hand. "Call me if you need anything. I'll be right here."

"Yes, sir." Neal made sure to put on his usual innocent grin before turning out of the living room and striding up to the front door.

Neal put his hand firmly on the knob and this time, unlike last night, he did turn it. He grinned joyfully as he shut the door behind him, basking in the warm rays of sun and the outdoors' sweet afternoon scent.

_'Step 1.. check.'_

Neal made sure to jog his way down the Burke's pathway and even turn the corner before he stopped and took out his cell phone, quickly dialing a familiar number.

"Hey, Mozz. It's me. Grab the stuff and meet me at the place we talked about. The plan is in motion."

WCWCWCWC

"Neal, mon frère!" The eager words of a short, bespectacled teenager, echoed throughout the alley way. "So, we finally meet again."

"Yeah, yeah, Moz. Please, spare me the dramatics." Neal walked over to hug his slightly older friend, feeling a strange rush of happiness at the reunion. He hadn't seen Mozzie for over a month now. With his maniacal father always lurking about, it was far too dangerous for Neal to maintain any sort of close relationship with his friends.

"Fine, fine. If I must." Moz sighed theatrically before gesturing to a bag on the floor beside him. "I guess we have more important things to discuss, anyway."

Neal grinned at his friend before nearing the bag. "Thanks, Moz. You're the best." He quickly set about rummaging through the bag, making sure it contained all of the items he'd requested. "This will work just fine. Where on earth did you get this stuff?"

"Neal," The teen fixed him with a pointed glare. "You know, there are many things of which a wise man might wish to be ignorant."

"Ralph Waldo Emerson?"

"Who else?"

"Fair enough." Neal conceded, shaking his head at his peculiar friend. "You're really way too paranoid, Moz. You should try lightening up once and a while, you know that?"

"Really, Neal? Am I too paranoid?" Mozzie retorted, voice frustrated. "Well, you know what they say, paranoia's the k-"

"The key to longevity, Moz. I know. You say it all the time."

Mozzie frowned back at him, evidently yielding his defeat. "Alright. This may be true." He responded reluctantly and Neal chuckled before grabbing the bag and turning to walk away.

"Good luck, Neal. Text me if you need any help." A still frantic-sounding Mozzie called after him.

"You know I will, Moz. Thanks again." And before he knew it, Neal was gone.

WCWCWCWC

"Yes, the guests will enter though the front but the buffet will be displayed in the lounge you visited last weekend. I promise you, it is all going according to plan." El flipped through a heavy binder with one hand while using the other to support the cell phone pressed firmly against her ear."

"You have nothing to worry about, sir. The art work has arrived safe and sound. It all looks absolutely stunning, by the way. I was completely blown away." El nodded at no one particular as she continued her practiced multi-tasking. "The guests will be arriving in around twenty minutes. I'll be sure to find you once everything is running smoothly. Don't you worry, I'll check in with you very soon."

El hung up the phone and sighed as she glanced around the gallery's immaculately put together entrance way. The planning had involved a vast amount of time and effort. However, now that it was all said and done, it seemed as if her hard work had finally paid off.

Now, with twenty minutes to kill before the guests arrived, El found herself exiting the main entrance as she quickly made her way into the gallery's large showcase room where the artwork was already displayed. Slowly, El circled the room, carefully taking in the masterpieces that made up her surroundings.

She passed by the most infamous works of Rembrandt, Bearden and even Picasso, before stopping to focus on one piece, in particular. It was _Gorky's 'Flowers in a Pitcher.' _She stood for a long moment to analyze the profound, abstract painting before a small smile unexpectedly curved her lips. Her mind seemed to have wandered to the discussion at breakfast earlier and the super-genius teenager who would kill to see such a piece up close. Without thinking twice about, El turned and made her way back to the main entrance to grab her cell phone. She had to take a picture of this for Neal.

Quickly, she picked up the device and hurried back into the room, pointing the camera lens directly at the place she had just been so gleefully admiring.

Except this time around, there was scarcely a thing to admire.

El shrieked into the desolate room, frantically pressing a speed-dial on her phone.

This time around, the well-known piece was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N - Ah chapter 10 already.. how exciting. :D Hope this lives up to it.

WCWCWCWC

"Hey, hun. How's the event going? I was gonna check in-"

"Peter, wait. Listen to me." El's voice was frantic, her breathes as quick as her fast-paced steps. "You- you need to get down here now. Call Bancroft, call your team-"

"What? El, hold a second. What on earth is going on? Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes. I'm fine. It's a- a painting. A painting is gone."

"What? What do you mean, it's gone?" Peter's voice was anxious now as he stood up from the couch, ear pressed tight against his phone.

"It was just here. I mean, I was just looking at it. And now it's gone. Oh my god, we've been robbed. I was in charge and oh, Peter! That piece costs thousands. The whole gallery is on lock down and the guests are due to arrive any minute and we've been robbed-"

"Jesus - okay, okay. I'm on my way, hun. Just calm down, please. It'll be fine. I promise-"

"Wait, Peter." El cut her husband's platitudes off short. "Bring Neal with you."

"What?" Peter heard himself ask, his mind suddenly racing wildly and his heart sinking quite unexpectedly.

Neal.

Neal wasn't here.

"Um, why- why would I need to bring Neal?" Peter's voice was frenzied, his train of thought taking a turn for the worse.

"Hun, you can't just leave him there alone in the house. There is a thief running around this city - who could be armed, Peter." The agent tried to ignore his wife's elevated voice as he grabbed his car keys, almost sprinting out of the house.

"Um, about that.. Well, Neal isn't exactly here."

"What?" El's frantic words were low and dangerous now and Peter cringed inwardly. "What do you mean he isn't there?"

"I - he went for a run earlier and he isn't back yet. I could call him.."

El was silent for a long moment and Peter wondered if it was due to anger or if she too was lost in the same chilling thought he had been struck by. Possibly both.

"No, no." She said suddenly, breaking the silence. "Um- don't worry about it. You just get over here. I'll call him." El voice was unreadable now and Peter nodded futilely as he climbed into the car.

"Alright. I'll call for backup and meet you over there. Stay around other people at all times, El. Don't go wandering off."

"Yes, hun. I know." El's voice had a slight quaver to it and Peter closed his eyes briefly. He hated to hear his wife so upset.

"Okay. I'll see you in a bit." Peter hung up the phone quickly and pulled into traffic, praying that El would talk to Neal soon. And that the pair wouldn't be in the same room when they did so.

WCWCWCWC

"Peter, what the hell is going on?" His superior's voice boomed and Peter felt a chill run up his spine. He certainly didn't think he'd be dealing with an irate Bancroft when he woke up this morning.

"Um," The agent began hesitantly. "I don't exactly know, sir. El didn't have a whole lot of details." Peter explained as he pushed in the door to the gallery's entrance way, his superior walking directly behind him. "I already told you, apparently a painting's gone missing that she says was there only moments earlier."

"So, there's just one piece missing?"

"Um - yes. I think so. But El sounded certain that this was a robbery, sir. And I believe her." Peter's voice was confident now and Bancroft nodded.

"Alright, Burke. But that does seem highly unusual. Come on, let's investigate the showcase room and see what's what. We'll leave backup to ward off the guests for right now."

Peter only nodded, following his boss into the next room.

"I guess this was where the painting was." Peter neared the back wall, pointing out a blatant patch of white before moving in to inspect it further.

"Oh my god-" Peter ran a hand down his face as he inspected the, now non-existent painting's, title placard.

"Burke, what is it?"

Peter swallowed painfully against the lump that had almost instantly lodged in his throat.

It was the Gorky.

The piece El and Neal had been talking about just hours earlier.

"Oh - um, nothing. It's nothing." Peter added quickly, tearing his gaze from the empty section of wall. "Just- that's El's favorite painting."

"Hm." Bancroft said, inspecting the silver title plate for himself. "Well, this work is certainly the favorite of many."

"What do you mean?"

"Peter, we've been getting leads about an alleged heist on this painting for weeks now. We already have some potential buyers lined up to bring in for questioning."

"What? Really?"

"Yes. This definitely wasn't any accident. Someone's been planning on stealing this painting." Bancroft turned instantly, meeting Peter's gaze. "For a while now."

Peter felt his mouth go dry as his superior's face took on a grave, almost ominous look.

"Peter, where's the kid?"

The agent could swear his heart stopped then.

"What? Why?"

"Peter, you don't understand." Bancroft rubbed a frustrated hand down his face. "One of the leads led us to Caffrey.. He was a potential suspect."

"Y-you're kidding me."

"I am not. And where in the hell is the kid?"

"I - I don't exactly know, sir." Peter answered sheepishly. "He went for a run earlier and then-"

"Peter." His boss' voice was dangerous as it echoed loudly throughout the glass-lined room.

"I swear- I had no idea about this."

"Burke, this is serious." Bancroft was looking directly at him now, his eyes shooting daggers. "I trusted you."

"Sir, listen." Peter said quickly, grasping at straws. "In my defense, why was I not told about this? I would have kept a closer eye on him.."

"Burke come on, you know why. After what happened with his father, we all just let it go. We figured with the true mastermind locked up, the kid wouldn't pose a threat anymore. He'd have no reason to."

Peter nodded, suddenly feeling ill. "Alright. Well, there might not even be anything to worry about. Neal, he - he wouldn't do this. El is calling him right now. I'm sure everything is fine."

Bancroft paused momentarily before responding. "Fine, who the suspect is isn't our main priority right now. Right now, we need to worry about stopping whoever has that work and getting it into our custody." Bancroft paused and the agent nodded his understanding.

"First, we need to make sure we secure the perimeter and fast. The thief could be anywhere by now. Go round up the backup and line the outskirts of the property. We need all hands on deck for this."

"You got it." Peter turned away quickly, heading towards the exit.

"Oh and Peter." The agent turned around once again to met his boss's ominous glare. "You better get Caffrey on the damn phone. Now."

Peter only nodded before making his way to the exit once again, already pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. He intended to do exactly that and if he didn't succeed, well, someone was going to be very sorry.

WCWCWCWC

"Yeah, I got one of my agents rounding up backup as we speak. There are hundreds of guests waiting outside. We need to secure the area first and foremost." Bancroft paced the deserted showcase room, sighing heavily into the receiving end of his cell phone.

"No, we in no way need NYPD's assistance. We've got everything under control. I got word that one of your guys had a sighting of a potential suspect. Could you please just enlighten me about this lead so we could both just carry on with our jobs?" The agent nodded fruitlessly at the prying officer's reluctant information. "Alright, thank you." Within moments he had pulled his phone from his ear and hung it up.

He had a thief to catch.

Bancroft dashed from the showcase room, removing his gun from his holster. If his source was accurate, the suspect should be looming somewhere around the corner of East Washington Square. He hurriedly pressed his phone to his ear once again, still making his way to the location. He needed to update his team.

"Peter, listen." Bancroft began hurriedly. "I just spoke with NYPD about a possible sighting of the thief. I just rounded the corner of the location. I'm in the East side of Washington Square. I'm standing by a dumpster and I think that's a diner down there, I don't know - just get backup and meet me here immediat-"

Suddenly, Bancroft was cut off by an unusual rustling sound coming from withing the dumpster. He immediately whirled around to face the source of the noise. It was the thief. It just had to be. He had heard Bancroft's voice and was attempting to get away. Not on his watch.

"Peter, get here now." Bancroft immediately pocketed his phone, choosing to aim his gun instead. Directly at the dumpster.

"You are surrounded, genius." Bancroft lied confidently. "Show yourself and I won't shoot."

There was still no noise to be heard and Bancroft inched closer.

"I said to show yourself." When he was rewarded with more silence, the agent made a quick decision, firing a shot at the ground in front of the dumpster.

This time the distinct rustling was heard again and Bancroft smirked. "You heard me the first time. Now, show yourself. I'm not here to play games."

Bancroft paused for a very long moment before slowly, but surely, a face did emerge from the dumpster and it was certainly not a face he wanted to see.

"Caffrey." Bancroft bellowed, his gun now pointed directly at the thief.

"Drop the painting and put your goddamn hands in the air. You are under arrest."

A/N - Welp. I wanted to apologize for not responding to the last chapter's reviews. But everyone's had very differing ideas about what exactly is going on and I didn't know how to word my responses without possibly giving it away. But I love responding as much as I appreciate the reviews themselves so please don't think I'm just slighting you. :/ Well, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and what's to come. :D

Ps. Everything isn't always as it seems..


	11. Chapter 11

"Hey hun." Peter quickened his steps as he approached the frazzled brunette standing at the street corner, somber features cast downwards at her cell phone.

"Oh, Peter. Thank god." El looked up from her phone immediately, shortening the distance between herself and the agent. "How'd everything go with the search? Do you guys have a suspect?"

"Well, we didn't find much." Peter spoke tentatively, wondering whether or not he should divulge the Neal-related information Bancroft had shared with him. "Di just called. Apparently NYPD alerted us about a possible sighting. The team's down there checking it out now. She told me to make sure you were alright first."

El nodded at her husband before opening her mouth as if to speak. But she didn't. Instead, she stopped herself, looking back down at her phone.

"So," Peter began, sensing her poorly concealed anxiety. "Hear anything from Neal?"

El only shook her head no.

Peter sighed heavily. "El, listen. Bancroft mentioned th-"

"Peter." El's response was sharp and to the point. "He did not do this."

"Hun, I thought so too. But Bancroft told me that he was a suspect weeks ago.."

"I don't care. I know that boy."

"Hun, please. "

"No. He wouldn't do this to himself and he certainly wouldn't do this to you."

Peter paused then, moving his gaze downwards. Oh, how he wished that were true.

"El," His voice remained hesitant. "He's been a prime suspect for weeks now."

"I know that, Peter. But that doesn't change anything. Neal was on your radar weeks ago only because his father was forcing his hand. His father needed the painting, not him. Without that creep in the picture, I can't understand why he would've even wanted it."

Peter's eyes shot up immediately as he re-fixed his eyes on his wife's. "I think I can."

Peter turned around quickly to head to his car before calling back to his startled wife. "El, I have to go check on something. I'll call you in a little while, I promise."

And before Peter knew it, he was back in his car and headed for home. This was the one time in Peter's life that he hoped his gut instinct was wrong.

WCWCWCWC

Peter threw open the front door and barged into the house, ignoring the unpleasant screech as he slammed it close behind him.

"Neal!" There was no answer.

After briefly scanning the too silent living room, Peter quickly made a dash up the stairs and down the hall to Neal's room. To the closed door of Neal's evidently occupied room.

"Neal." The agent repeated, voice still elevated as he pushed the door open.

The agent stopped dead in his tracks at the unexpected scene before him. His eyes landed immediately on the painting. He was staring directly at the Gorky in question, with his mouth hung open and his brow furrowed. There it was- in plain sight. It was not hidden or stashed away in any sort of fashion. No instead it sat in his direct line of sight, right atop - Neal's easel..

He just stared at the painting for a long moment before closing his eyes briefly, shaking his head. The pieces finally clicked.

He opened his eyes then and they instantly darted around the room before landing on Neal. An utterly baffled, clearly frightened-looking Neal. He was sitting at the edge of his bed with a small fine-tipped paint bush in his hand. His face was scrunched in distress and his demeanor was strangely stand-offish.

"Neal." The agent repeated for the third time, his voice calming with apparent relief at the sight of the boy.

"That's not the rare and expensive original Gorky from NYU's art gallery opening, is it?"

The boy shook his head no and Peter accepted the response with a quick nod before moving to sit next to a still apprehensive Neal on the edge of the bed.

"Well, I'd bet anything that it is." Peter stated as he gazed at the item in question. Neal's face looked as alarmed as ever as he stared back at the agent, his eyes wide.

"But," Peter continued, taking out his cell phone and pressing a speed dial. "I know that it isn't." And Neal's defensive demeanor lessened significantly.

"Hold on a second." Peter held up a finger to the boy who only nodded before he pressed his phone to his ear.

"Hey, sir. I think I know what's going o-" Peter was cut short by the incensed voice on the other end of the line. "I knew it. That bastard. Yeah, I'll be down there soon." Peter only nodded before hanging up the phone and re-averting his gaze to Neal.

"So," Peter continued with feigned nonchalance as he stared at the now truly guiltless teenager.

"Your father escaped from jail."

"Is he in here yet? I'd like to have a word with him." Peter rushed through the doors of the White Collar division, immediately getting the attention of his boss.

"He's in there right now. Diana's questioning him." Bancroft smiled slightly and Peter couldn't help but chuckle. Bruce Caffrey was a dead man.

"Rest assured, Peter. He is going to pay for this. We are shipping him off to a Close Security prison about three cities away. And his sentence will be increased significantly."

Peter nodded, running a hand down his face. "Good. He can get minimum a year and a day added on for this stunt. I'd like to see that doubled. At least."

"Could happen." Bancroft turned to briefly peer into the questioning room. "Apparently, he had a buyer willing to pay through the nose for this thing. A very - violent buyer, at that. He's trying to use that as an excuse."

Peter only snorted.

"Yeah, well the guy's been expecting this for weeks now and Bruce knew that his son certainly wasn't going to forge it for him anymore. The idiot felt he needed to escape from prison to do his dirty work himself."

"Worked out well too."

"Sure did." Bancroft huffed, shaking his head. "So, how's the kid doing?"

"I don't know. He seemed alright. I only saw him for a few minutes, though. Told him I had to run."

Bancroft nodded. "He knows it was his father?"

"Yeah. That's about all he knows." Peter hesitated briefly before continuing. "It was weird though. He was acting really suspicious the entire time. You know, when I first showed up, I called his name and he didn't answer me. And trust me, there was no way he couldn't have heard me."

Peter looked away now, his mind lost in thought. "If he had nothing to do with this, why the heck was he hiding from me? He didn't answer me when I called him and then he ignored me the entire when I was talking in his room. That can't possibly just be a teen thing." The agent finished, furrowing his brow in question.

"Peter," Bancroft said after a slight pause and the agent moved to meet his gaze once again. "On a scale of 1-10, how mad as hell were you when you went to confront him?"

"About 100." Peter sighed and his superior only nodded. "And the boy was innocent the whole time." It wasn't a question and Peter didn't respond.

"Hm." Bancroft looked pensive for a moment before continuing. "So, the kid was just sitting in his room, totally guiltless, before he was graced with your boisterous, mad as hell, entrance?"

And Peter only watched as Bancroft titled his head slightly toward the interrogation room that held a fuming Bruce and Diana.

"That remind you of any one?"

And an unexpected chill ran up Peter' spine.

"Oh, crap."

Neal watched Peter go, still feeling his heart in his throat. What on earth had just happened? After collecting the necessary supplies from Mozzie he had come back here to paint. He needed to recreate Gorky's famous piece. To make the perfect present for El.

He had spent hours on the piece, making sure to hone in on every feature and perfect the slightest of details. It helped that Peter and Elizabeth weren't home. He didn't want to worry himself with lying to the couple about what he planned to do that day. He had been putting on the final touches, the tiny _NC _ at the bottom of the painting that signified it's completion, when suddenly the unimaginable had happened.

He had been stunned instantly by the harsh bang of the door being thrown in, the spine-chilling, yet familiar, screech that came with it and the bitter shout of his name.

Neal had lived through that similar scene time after time, and yet, he could have never expected it. At least, not here.

Neal continued to sit motionless on the bed before looking up at the plan, white ceiling. He remembered just how difficult it had been to fall asleep that past night, his mind preparing itself for the inevitable.

_He waited for the stomp of his father's footsteps, the sound of the slamming door, the slur of whiskey-inhibited words, and the chill that ran up his spine at the screech of his door being thrown open._

Neal had been shocked and Neal had been scared. And now, he felt guilty. He had no prior knowledge of the situation, he couldn't have known why Peter had been so angry. So angry at him.

How could he have known?

Still, it didn't matter how. All that mattered is it that he should've - had to have - known that Peter wouldn't do that. That Peter was nothing like his father. And yet, he had let himself forget that.

Neal sat up on his bed and put his face in his hands. He couldn't even do something nice for El without screwing something up. So he simply sat. He sat and he sat, face still covered, before the faint sound of knocks pulled him from his dejection.

"Hey, Neal. You in there?" There was a brief, almost reluctant, pause before the voice piped up again. "I'm sorry."

A/N - Poor Neal. He just can't seem to fully escape his past. Well, at least he's not going to jail. Ha. More sentencing for that joyous humanitarian of a father. The sucker.. *attempt at evil laugh*


	12. Chapter 12

A/N - Yay for the return if h/c after all that drama. There's a slew of it in here, don't you worry. This is also a very dialogue-y chapter. Not even one scene break.. Hope people like that. I figured Peter and Neal had quite a lot of talkin' to do. Lol. Anyway, onwards..

WCWCWCWC

"Neal?" The short knocks came again and Neal was conflicted. One part of him hoped this whole situation would just go away. And that included the apologetic agent at the door. But another part of him didn't want to push Peter away. He was sick of being on his own, infuriated with being sad, and fed up with being alone.

"It's open." Neal's voice was hesitant but his mind was made up. He had his fill of being on his own.

"Hey," the agent began warily. "You got a minute?"

Neal nodded. "What's up?" There was a slight shake to his voice and he winced at how child-like he sounded.

"I- um, I wanted to talk to you about before." Peter gestured to a spot next to Neal and waited for a quick nod before sitting down beside him. "I know I was pretty shaken up earlier. I didn't mean to- to scare like you that. Just, the situation-"

"You don't have to apologize, Peter. I get it."

"No, Neal. I do. I was stressed out, I overreacted and I'm sorry."

The easy apology felt strange to Neal and he looked away, avoiding eye contact with the agent. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Peter opened his mouth before closing it just as quickly. Clearly, this situation wasn't too pleasant for him, either.

"Listen Neal," He said after a moment, voice sincere. "Just- you never have to be afraid here. I need you to know that."

Neal sighed, still determinedly looking away. "Yeah, and how can I know that, Peter?" The muttered response had been unexpected and the agent blinked suddenly, staring down at the boy who refused to meet his gaze.

"Neal-"

"No, seriously. How am I supposed to know that?" He questioned, this time looking up to meet the agent's gaze. His look radiated utter sadness and defeat. And if Neal hadn't been so distressed, he might have actually noticed that.

"What if I had done it?"

"What?"

"What if that really was the stolen Gorky?" Neal pointed at the easel across from him. "What if I had actually done it? You came in here ready to kill me. Would I have been able to feel safe then, Peter? Really?" Neal's voice was quiet and shaky, but his eyes radiated sheer determination.

"Yes."

"What?"

"You heard me. Yes."

"Yeah, I don't quite believe you." Neal snorted, looking down at his lap resolutely. "It's fine, Peter. You don't owe me anything, anyway."

"Neal, you don't understand. I was never mad at you before. I was never angry- with _you_."

Neal looked up slightly, but he didn't grace the agent with a response.

"Yes, I was pissed off. And, of course, I was mad. But never at you. I was mad at the situation, Neal. I was mad that I hadn't kept a closer eye on you, I was mad that Bancroft never informed me that you'd been a suspect. But mainly, I was terrified that you did it and that I hadn't stopped you." He paused, running a hand down his face. "You think I rushed back here 'cause I was just dying to send you off to jail?"

Neal had yet to respond, but his face did take on a more reflective expression.

"I thought if I caught you in time, we could fix this. I would've told Bancroft that I found the thing lying in Central Park, for all I cared. Yes, I was mad and scared and even angry, Neal . But never at you."

There was a pause and Neal chose to fill it. "Really?"

Peter only nodded. "I know you wouldn't have done it just for fun. Your intentions are in the right place."

Neal ran a hand through his hair before looking back down again. "I didn't know that."

"Yeah, well. It doesn't matter anyway."

Neal furrowed his brow, face quizzical. "What do you mean? Of course it matters."

"No, it really doesn't." Peter sighed. "Neal, whether I was mad at you or not, no one in this house is ever going to hurt you. And I don't think you fully understand that."

Neal blinked, suddenly feeling a slight burn behind his eyes.

"Oh." He managed to say, nodding briefly. Peter had made that sound much too straight forward. Far too simple. And it couldn't be that simple. Could it?

"Um," He cleared his throat, finally staring up at the agent. "You know, Satch did try to bite me once."

"Really, Neal?" Peter raised an eyebrow, secretly grateful for the inopportune levity. At least it was familiar.

Neal only shrugged and there was a brief silence before the agent spoke up again.

"Neal," He began, regaining the kid's attention. "I wasn't thinking when I burst in here. I really am sorry."

"Please," Neal sighed, frustrated. "Don't apologize. It's not necessary."

When it came right down to it, Neal knew that the agent had just been stuck in a difficult situation and he could certainly relate. His father had actually hurt him both verbally and physically for years and he had never once contemplated apologizing to Neal. His own son.

"Don't care. I will until you accept it."

"Nope."

"Neal-"

"Nope."

"Neal, I'm s-"

"Fine. Okay? Fine."

Peter smirked then and Neal had a hard time not smiling back before fixing his gaze in his lap once again.

"Good. Saved us both a lot of time."

Peter sighed, pausing momentarily to move his gaze from the boy. He suddenly chose to focus on the remarkable forgery that sat upon Neal's easel, instead. He analyzed it's superior details, finding himself in awe of every small curve of a line or precise speckle of paint. He couldn't believe just how much it resembled the real thing.

"So, I take it you made that?"

Neal nodded, following Peter's gaze to the painting in question. "Yeah."

"It really is amazing, Neal." Peter turned to look at the kid again, a knowing look on his face. "She's gonna love it."

Neal faced him then, slightly stunned. "How do you know it's for El?"

Peter only chuckled. "Lucky guess."

There was a brief silence before Neal spoke up again, appearing slightly more distraught than moments earlier. "I- I just can't believe this actually happened." Neal hesitated, lost in thought. "He really escaped?"

"Yeah, he really did." Peter nodded. "I haven't talked to Diana yet. She was questioning him when I left the office. So, I really don't know a lot of the details. If anything, at this point, you probably know more than I do." Peter ran a hand down his face, clearly frustrated. "Apparently, he owed some guy this painting. I guess without someone to forge it for him, he thought he had to take the real thing himself."

Neal nodded. "Yeah, I know."

Peter titled his head slightly at the remark but he didn't question it. "Right." He paused thoughtfully. "Is that why you were so interested in the painting when El first showed you the brochure?" Peter's voice was focused now. "Were you supposed to be painting it this weekend- for your dad?"

Peter looked over at the boy now, shocked to see his demeanor tense up once again. "You don't have to answer that." He said, quickly. "Just curious."

Neal paused for a long while but when he did respond his demeanor seemed less on edge. "Uh- no, it's fine." Neal's heart knew that Peter was on his side. Yet, he never really acted accordingly. It was difficult learning to confide in somebody. After all, he didn't do it very often.

"Neal," Peter said after a moment, registering Neal's reluctance to respond. "You know you can talk to me, right?"

Neal stiffened, caught off guard by the agent's question.

"Neal," Peter repeated. "Unless you somehow manage to get yourself behind that interrogation table again, you can always talk to me. Not as Agent Burke, or someone trying to put you in jail-" He paused , checking to see that he had the kid's full attention."Just as Peter."

Neal actually turned to face the agent now, a foreign pang in his chest.

"Yeah, I know that. Thanks."

Peter smiled, sensing an authenticity from the response that he hadn't been expecting.

"Alright. You better."

Neal smiled back, but it seemed more detached than it should have been and Peter sighed.

"You don't trust me, do you?"

"No, I do." The response was immediate and Peter relaxed slightly. "It - it's just hard to." He continued, voice almost frustrated. "I've never really had a reason to trust someone before. I just have issues with it, I guess."

"I know, Neal. I know all about the cookies. You told me." Peter chuckled then and Neal found himself grateful for the levity.

"Yeah. But that's just one part of it." Neal's smile had a realness to it now and Peter felt strangely pleased at the observation.

"What is it, then?" Peter asked and Neal bristled slightly at his nonchalance. "What's stopping you from trusting people who actually care?"

And Neal found himself oddly struck by the confession. So, it was true then.

"Um," Neal's voice was unusually hesitant. He had never really thought too in depth about his trust issues before. He'd simply assumed that this was how things were meant to be. That this is what he deserved.

"I guess I just can't understand it." Neal's voice was frustrated but Peter's reply was patient, voice collected.

"Understand what?"

"Why on earth you and El actually care." Neal put his face in his hands now, dignity be damned. "I know, Peter. I know. You already told me that people should care and I understand that. I really do. But they can care about other people." He lifted his head up then, eyes still refusing to make contact with Peter's. "Why me?"

Peter sighed then as he looked down at the unjustly broken boy. How do you tell someone who has been deemed worthless their entire life that they've been lied to? How do you suddenly convince them of otherwise?

"Neal," Peter began, his tone of consistent nonchalance. "Remember that time you were on the run from me in downtown London?"

"What?" Neal looked at him abruptly, startled by the question. "I mean, yeah. Last March, right?"

"Yep. Last March." Peter paused momentarily, recalling the memory. "It was rumored that you had taken that missing Rembrandt from the V&A and that you were actually carrying it around with you in your backpack."

"Yeah, well what's better than hiding something in plain sight?"

Peter snorted. "Not getting caught."

"Fair enough."

"Anyway," Peter continued. "I had been so close and yet I didn't catch you that day. Remember why?"

Neal remained silent.

"Well," Peter continued, ignoring his lack of response. "There I am. Flew all the way in from New York - damn eight hour plane ride - to come face to face with the one and onlyNeal Caffrey and his unusually large-sized backpack in the middle of downtown London. Remember yet?" Peter smirked, not expecting a response.

"No? Alright. Well, I had eyes on you just a few blocks away. You were fast. But I wasn't carrying a priceless piece of Victorian artwork on my back. So, naturally, I was faster. I'm just about to catch up to you when suddenly I stopped - because you stopped. Recall why?"

The agent was greeted with more anticipated silence.

"Hm. Well, it seemed that _the_ Neal Caffrey had been stopped midst getaway- by a little girl. What was she, like six?"

The agent received a small nod.

"Yep. A six year old girl, spoke all French too- I didn't have the faintest idea what you too were talking about. All I knew was that she was in hysterics, crying about a mère and a père. I assumed that was her mom and dad. And something about being 'perdu,' or _lost_, right?"

And Neal nodded again.

"See? I do know a few words here and there. Anyway, I remember you taking the little girl's hand and telling her - well, I don't know - don't speak French. But whatever you said, it made her stop crying."

Peter paused to look over at the kid then, just in time to see Neal's lips curve slightly.

"You know, I still have no idea why she stopped you of all people."

Neal did smile then, seeming lost in the memory before he finally spoke up. "Her parents told her to wait outside the shop they'd been in. And she hadn't. She was chasing a butterfly and got lost."

Peter grinned before Neal continued on. "She said she was scared to tell an adult. Thought they'd yell at her for not listening to her parents."

"Oh man- kids. That's cute." The agent chuckled before proceeding. "Anyway, then you walked away with her, remember? You didn't run. You walked away with her - and the painting. The panting that could've put you behind bars, mind you. To help that little girl."

"Yeah." Neal spoke after a moment. "But I gave that panting back, you know?"

"I know. I got a call the next day that it was _generously found and donated _to the Victoria and Albert museum. You are really a piece of work." Peter muttered. "And that is not the point of this story."

"So, what's the point?"

Peter sighed heavily. "You know the point." And Neal actually turned then to meet the agent's gaze. "The point is that El and I aren't doing anything for you that you wouldn't do for someone else. And I know that."

Neal only blinked before opting for silence once again.

"If, for just one second, you quit acting like you don't ever deserve to be happy and you quit acting like you actually believe that you're worthless - you would know that too."

Neal was shocked and Neal was startled. But more significantly, he was touched. He had almost entirely forgotten about that incident in London. Frankly, he hadn't even thought much of it at the time. He had just been grateful that Peter had let him help her. That he hadn't simply caught up with them and arrested him on the spot. But apparently, Neal's forgotten actions had resonated with the agent. And that truly meant something to him.

"Wait." Neal blurted suddenly and Peter gave him a quizzical stare in response. "I told you about Steve."

"What?"

"Remember, in the car? I told you about Steve Tabernacle and the fake license." And Peter nodded in acknowledgement.

"See?" Neal continued after a moment, voice quiet. " I do trust you."

Peter smiled at that and Neal returned it for the first time, genuinely, all night. "That is true."

"And yes." Neal spoke again, more hesitantly this time. "Yeah, I was supposed to be painting that.. for different reasons today."

Peter nodded. "That's how you got the supplies so fast?"

And Neal nodded back.

"Yeah. But, it was weird." He said suddenly, turning to look over at the painting in question. "When I did this one, it didn't feel like work, you know? This is one of the fastest I've ever done too."

"Yeah, well this time it was different. You were doing it because you wanted to."

Neal nodded. "Yeah. And I'm giving it to someone who isn't gonna sell it for cheap booze."

Peter winced then, moving over to tentatively clasp Neal on the shoulder. "Nope. And you're lucky it's too big to be hung from the refrigerator or you'd be screwed, my friend."

Neal chuckled. "Yeah, I guess I lucked out."

Since the day Neal could hold a pencil, he had been drawing. And yet, his father had never once considered hanging one of his pictures up on the refrigerator. He'd never even complimented one of his pieces before.

Neal didn't dare say anything to Peter. But suddenly, he wished the painting was just a little bit smaller.


	13. Chapter 13

El was in the kitchen. More importantly, El was in the kitchen baking. She knew how much Neal loved her chocolate chip cookies so she had set out to make a batch, just for him. She told Peter that she was doing it as a way to wind down after today, to do something all three of them could enjoy. But deep within her heart, she knew that wasn't the real reason.

Yes, she had stuck up for Neal. Of course she had. But she had betrayed him too. When Peter informed her that he had been a suspect, she couldn't hide her concern. Her worry. Her traitorous thoughts. Neal had left the house unexpectedly, had avoided communication with her all day and had been on the FBI's radar for quite some time in regards to this particular heist.

What was she supposed to think?

That he didn't do it?

_'Yes.' _ The answer came easier than she had expected it to. _'That he didn't do it.'_

El sighed as she threw some extra chocolate chips into the batter. Not one raisin to be seen.

Yes, these were guilt cookies. And she knew it.

"Hun?" El was lifted from her internal berating by the sound of her husband's voice in the next room.

"In the kitchen." She called before moving to check on the food in the oven.

Peter emerged into the room with a small smile on his face. Quietly, he padded over to El, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind.

"Someone's in a good mood." El quipped, turning slightly to reward her husband with a quick kiss. "So, did you talk to Neal?"

"Mhm. It went a lot better than I thought it would too." Peter said as he attempted to subtly reach for the large spoon sitting in the bowl of batter. Unfortunately, his hand was swatted away immediately, foiling his plan.

"No touching, mister." El pointed a finger at the agent and he frowned, pulling his hand away in defeat. "Well, I'm glad it's all okay now. I hated seeing you both so upset."

Peter nodded. "You and me both."

"So, where is the little con kid, anyway?" El chuckled. "I was hoping he'd want to help me cook again."

Peter smiled, secretly grateful that the burden of helping El in the kitchen had been transferred recently. After all, Neal actually enjoyed cooking and Peter was no good at it anyway.

"He's on his way down. He was just finishing up.. something." Peter mentally scolded himself for the almost-slip of the tongue, thankful that El didn't seem to have noticed.

"Oh, okay. Well, there will still be plenty of stuff left to do in a few minutes, trust me."

"Can I help at all, hun?" Peter asked, trying not to laugh at his wife's anticipated glare.

"What do you think? I'll still be doing all of the work and you'll just be standing by the batter, licking the bowl clean. Nope. Shoo."

"Alright, alright. I'll be in the living room. Call me when you're ready to apologize." Peter said, unsuccessfully ducking at the teaspoon of flour that was suddenly shot his way.

"It was joke." A still grinning Peter coughed, waving away the flour with a hand. "I'm going. I'm going."

Peter turned out of the kitchen, still wiping flour from his face, when he was greeted by a suddenly smirking Neal en route towards the kitchen.

"What the heck happened to you?"

"None of your business is what happened to me."

"Peter, you do know that's flour, not face wash." There was a unexpected burst of laughter followed by a _"Sorry, hun," _from within the kitchen and Neal's smile only grew wider.

"Fine. You two make your jokes. I'll be in the living room."

"Wait, Peter."

"What is it now?" Peter turned reluctantly, still swatting at the flour.

"You've got a little something on your face." Neal was still chuckling, yet Peter found his irritation lessen significantly at the sight of the napkins in Neal's outstretched hand.

"Thanks." He took the proffered napkins from the kid, watching Neal shake his head in amusement as he continued his brief walk to the kitchen.

WCWCWCWC

"Yay. My little helper is here to save the day."

"El-" Neal said with feigned annoyance.

"What? Big helper?" El paused. "Is that better?"

Neal only chuckled, finding himself not as bothered by the childish nickname as he probably should have been. "Oh, chocolate chip cookies? I knew something smelled good."

"Yes." El said, grinning. There's one tray already in there. It's on the shelf above the chicken. Could you check on them for me? Make sure they're not too brown."

Neal nodded before moving to open the oven door, immediately struck by the escape of mouth-watering aromas within it.

"Nope, definitely not too brown. They look good to me." Neal assured her, staring eagerly at the food.

"Great. Then come help me with the second batch. Just roll this dough into tiny balls. There's not a lot to it."

Neal nodded before doing as he was directed. Yet, as he mindlessly rolled the dough, one by one, he found his gaze lost outside of the window instead of focused solely on the task before him.

It was strange. Tomorrow would probably pass quickly and then all that was left was his father's Monday morning trial before Neal's life would be a mess once again. Not a complete mess, mind you. Not as bad as days before. But a mess, nonetheless. And Neal knew this. Yet, even with these matters approaching far too quickly, Neal just couldn't think about any of that right now.

As he leaned against the counter top, rolling the sweet-smelling dough between his palms and watching the pink and purple sun set from outside of the window, he had no ability to feel anything but unadulterated happiness. He couldn't remember feeling this care-free ever before. And he certainly wasn't going to let the sensation go before he absolutely had to.

He continued on like that for another minute or so before he was pulled out of his peaceful trance by the sound of El's quiet voice.

"Neal?" Her voice was hesitant and Neal grew slightly wary. Had he done something wrong?

"Um," She continued tentatively. "Could I ask you something?"

"Sure." Neal answered promptly, angry that he'd automatically assumed that he was somehow at fault. This reaction had become something of a reflex at this point. "What's up?"

"No, never mind. It's nothing." El unnecessarily peered down at the dough in her hands. She looked strangely frustrated and Neal knew that it couldn't really have been nothing.

"El, I'm sure it's something." Neal said, overtly curious as to what suddenly had El so shaken up. "What is it?"

"It's none of my business. I shouldn't have said anything."

"El," Neal stopped rolling his dough to look up at her and El met his gaze, tentative eyes meeting curious ones. "Try me."

El sighed before resuming her mindless dough turning. And Neal did the same. "I was just wondering about- um, your mom." Neal saw her blink slightly, clearly regretting the words as she said them. "I mean, it's probably not my place. It's just that I know far more than anyone should about your dad,"

She paused then, squashing the dough just a little too hard and Neal felt oddly appreciative. No one else had really cared so much about how horribly Neal's father treated him. "But I don't know a thing about your mom. So I was just wondering-"

"Wait. Peter didn't tell you?" Neal said suddenly, oddly startled by the realization.

"No." El said, her look thoughtful. "I didn't know he knew anything about her."

"Oh. That's weird."

El chuckled then, feeling strangely relieved at Neal's reaction to her question. At least he hadn't been offended by it. "Why's it so weird? It's not like it was something I really needed to know." She shrugged, not seeming too fazed by the agent's choice to keep this from her. "It must be personal."

"I mean, yeah. Okay. But don't you two tell each other everything?"

"For the most part." She said, lips curving slightly. "But if he felt it was something you might not want me to know, he wouldn't tell me, Neal."

"Oh." He said after a moment. "Um, that makes sense." And suddenly, it dawned on him. Neal finally realized the true weight of confiding in someone and having faith that they won't abuse the right. More importantly, he experienced just what exactly trusting Peter meant. And frankly, he could get used to it.

El only smiled and Neal realized that she wasn't going to question him about the subject again.

"I don't mind you knowing about her, El." He uttered abruptly and she quickly moved to meet his gaze. "It's really not a big deal."

El only nodded. A small, reassuring smile already planted on her face. Yet, if you looked deep into her eyes, you could sense that this went far beyond satisfying her curiosity, El truly wanted to be able to talk to the boy. He clearly hadn't been able to communicate with his own father and El didn't want him to feel the same restriction here. By offering to share a piece of his past with her, she knew that Neal was going to let her in. And El could not have been more grateful more the opportunity.

"Um." Neal hesitated as he begun. "Well, for starters, she's not with us anymore. She passed away when I was eight, El."

"Oh, sweetie." El piped up instantly, moving to place a comforting hand on top of his own. "I had no idea. I'm so sorry." She sighed, sad eyes seeming lost in thought.

"It's okay, El. Really. But, thanks." He managed a small smile and El's heart only hurt a little more. "At least she was here for a little while." He added slowly and El nodded, eyes still disheartened.

"So, um.. what was she like?" El asked suddenly, moving her hand back so they could resume their idle rolling. "I mean, you're such a sweet and loveable young man. You must've picked up those traits from somebody."

Neal chuckled then and El snapped to attention instantly. "Sorry. Was that rude?"

The kid gave her a disbelieving look and El didn't need a response to know that the harmless slight to his father was just fine.

"Well," Neal said slowly, recalling El's question. "She was always very kind and sweet and generous. I'd like to say she was funny too. But it was certainly not one of her strong suits. Let's just say- she tried." And El laughed then, a foreign brightness to her eyes.

"But, we were both - abused by him." His voice shook slightly but he was determined to continue, nonetheless. "She was forced into the relationship to begin with. And then, after I was born, she was forced to stay." He paused slightly, his eyes looking miles away. "Or she'd have to leave me too. He would have never let us both go in a million years. He knew I'd be an artist since I was very young. Everyone knew."

Neal paused, pulling himself from his unpleasant reverie and instantly searching for El's attentive, reassuring eyes. "He had his alcohol and she went back to smoking. It was a habit she'd tried to kick after having me, but it was basically a lost cause. It was too much for her. She could never manage to quit and I couldn't really blame her." "Anyway," He sighed shakily before continuing. "About seven or so years ago, she ended up passing away from lung cancer. And I really miss her, El. Every single day."

"Oh, Neal, sweetie." El dropped the dough that sat motionless in her hand in exchange for wrapping her arms securely around the boy in front of her. "No one deserves to go through something like that. Especially not someone so little." She paused, tightening her hold slightly. "I know it can't make any of it better. But, I am so sorry."

Neal blinked, immensely caught off guard by the warm, comforting arms that were suddenly being pulled around him. It took him a moment but he did in fact move to hug her back, his mind unwillingly recalling the last time his own mother had called him _sweetie _and whether or not this was the first time in seven years that he had been hugged.

WCWCWCWC

A/N- Peter doesn't get to have all the fun, now does he? Nope. There was definitely some El and Neal bonding that needed to take place too. P.s. before people call me out on it, Neal did hug Mozzie a few chapters ago, but then, he was the one to initiate it. The point here was that El was the one to hug him, to show him unexpected and unprovoked affection that he hasn't gotten in a while. That's really the main idea of it. But yeah, didn't really think that through before. Whoops. Anyway, hope you liked this. Thank you so much for reading and for the notifications and reviews. It is so appreciated. (:


	14. Chapter 14

As expected, the night found a way to pass by far too quickly. The charcoal colored sky insensitively replacing the calming pink and purple shades Neal had found so captivating not a few hours earlier. His first dinner with the Burkes had been as enjoyable as he expected. Feeling considerably more at ease with the couple, Neal found himself speaking up far more than he had previously. He regaled the two fascinated adults with intriguing anecdotes of his life growing up, hardly seeming to wonder whether or not a particular story involved exclusively legal activities. After a while, it became too easy not to care.

All in all, dinner had went just fine. There were those brief, stomach-lurching minutes when Peter had received an _urgent _call from work that he insisted upon taking privately in the other room. But no. Otherwise, it had went just fine.

It was no secret that Neal had questioned the agent incessantly since he received the phone call. He felt he had no other choice. Earlier, Neal had been able to forget about this lingering court drama quite easily. He could simply block it out, push it as far away as possible before replacing the thoughts with new ones. Better ones. Of cooking, sweet dough and mesmerizing sunsets. But now, with the looming threat of unshared details about his father - about his life. Neal had no ability to do that.

With his father escaping from prison two days before his trial, Neal had held out hope for unexpected news. He hoped that with this newfound evidence of his father's blatant disregard for the law, a proper trial might not take place, after all. The possibility of the case being dismissed or postponed was certainly among the few unlikely outcomes Neal had been praying for.

He had a hard time admitting it to himself at first, but whether he had expected it or not, there was no doubt that he had truly come to enjoy staying with the Burkes. After all, the consistently safe atmosphere and comfortable home environment wasn't remotely similar to anything he'd experienced before. And frankly, he wasn't the scarcest bit eager to leave too soon.

WCWCWCWC

With the table cleared off and not much else to do, Peter found himself taking his usual place on the couch. Yet, this time, an unusually clingy Neal followed mere footsteps behind him. It was understandable, of course. He wanted to know about the unexpected work call. Why wouldn't he? What he couldn't understand, however, was Peter's severe reluctance to tell him.

Peter reached for the remote, leaning back against the cushions, unaware of the kid in question's stealthy hand a mere centimeters from his own. One slight maneuver later and the remote was in Neal's hand now, leaving a befuddled and irritated agent to wonder what exactly just happened.

"Neal, give it back."

"Fine. But first, tell me about the call."

"It's really not a big deal." There was a slight whine to Peter's voice but he didn't seem to care."Can't we just have one peaceful night?"

"Yes. After you tell me."

"Come on, Neal-."

"At least tell me who called. Was it Bancroft? The DA's office?" Neal held the remote behind his back now, staring at the agent determinedly.

"You know, I can just get up and turn it on manually."

"Peter," Neal paused, eyes wide and voice earnest. "Please."

The agent sighed, irritated that his perfectly calm night was going to be tarnished with unpleasant thoughts and unnecessary reminders about the impending trial. But more importantly, he was upset that Neal couldn't just let this go. He wasn't entirely sure what any of their lives were going to be like after tomorrow. Why should they ruin the peace of right now with the inevitable chaos of the future?

But the rational part of him knew, as much as he didn't want to admit it, that he would be acting in a very similar manner if the tables were turned. This was Neal's life they were talking about and he did have a right to know.

"Fine." Peter conceded and Neal's eyes shone with an almost tangible relief. "I just- I don't have any good news for you. And, I really hoped, after everything that happened, that there would be better news, Neal."

"Oh." Neal only stared for a moment and the brief, yet evident, distress that crinkled his eyes was not lost on the agent. "Well, is it bad news?"

Peter didn't respond at first and Neal visibly tensed. "Listen, Neal." Peter sighed, voice clearly frustrated. "Your father's trying to pull the insanity defense in court."

There was brief pause and Neal blinked slightly. "Wait, what?"

"We still have to look into it." Peter spoke warily, unsure of what to expect from the kid. "But he's claiming to have chronic schizophrenia.. If this is the case, it could fall under recognized mental illnesses by the court."

Neal didn't speak so Peter reluctantly continued. "The illness can severely affect a person's perception of reality, Neal. And sometimes, it can affect their ability to rationally control their behavior."

Neal paused, his gaze fixed on the agent. His voice was slow and shaky when he eventually spoke. "So, um..what could happen now?"

"Well," Peter began, searching for the right words. "If the judge finds the insanity claim to be true, it will result in a _not guilty_ verdict-"

"-you're joking."

Peter shook his head. "But there's still hope, Neal." The agent's reassurance was sincere and Neal had nothing better to do but listen. "If he actually does have this disorder, he won't just be set free. He might dodge jail time but he could still be sent to a mental facility given his state. It's really the judge's call."

Neal sat for a moment, his mind a blur of thoughts and possibly unanswerable questions. What would this mean for him now? How badly could this affect Monday's judgment? Given all of the evidence against his father, he had predicted the proceedings to be relatively simple. He never imagined his father would fabricate a lie of such magnitude just to take advantage of such a defense. Unless, it wasn't a lie.

Quite a few silent minutes passed before Neal blinked suddenly, pulled from his slew of harassing thoughts.

"Here." He suddenly passed the remote to Peter. "I think um- I think I'm gonna go up upstairs for a little." His words were hurried and his stare was averted to the ground as he spoke.

"Wait, Neal-"

"I'm fine, Peter." The answer was sharp and to the point and Peter had no choice but to watch him move hurriedly to the stairs and out of sight.

Well, so much for a peaceful night.

WCWCWCWC

"Hun, at least try to cheer up. He probably just needs a little time for himself." El's voice was quiet as she spoke, gaze focused on her untouched tea. "Don't take it so personally."

"I am not taking it personally, I just - I didn't mean to upset him."

"Hun, you did no such thing. He wanted to know what happened and you told him."

Peter sighed, not entirely convinced. "You think I should go up there?"

"It's your call, hun. But I'd wait a little while. Just let him be."

"Fine, your right. Maybe he just needs some space. He'll come down eventually." Peter's hesitant voice contradicted his optimistic words, but El let it slide.

"Now that's a much better attitude." El sipped her tea gradually, hoping the silence would give way to the soft sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. But so far, it hadn't.

"So, what do you think is going on here, hun? Does he actually have a case with this insanity plea?"

"I'm really not sure." The agent's voice remained wary and El's heart warmed at his apparent concern. "El, there is a very good chance he does have this disease. I mean, why else-" His voice trailed off at the end but El understood, regardless.

"God, imagine how Neal must be feeling right now."

"What do you mean?"

"Peter, picture having a horribly abusive father who was diagnosed with schizophrenia all of these years?" She paused, lost in thought. "And you didn't even know it."

Peter sighed, dropping his face into his cupped hands. "This is bad."

"I know it seems that way, hun. But Neal is a very strong, resilient young man. He can get through this."

Peter only snorted. "He's fifteen, hun. My biggest worry at that age was not winning my little league playoff game. I don't care how strong he might be. This is insane."

"Yes, that may be true." El inched closer on the couch, putting a hand on her husband's arm. "But now he has people to help him through it, Peter. Don't you think that makes all the difference?"

"I honestly don't know, El." Peter sighed, still looking down into his hands. "He doesn't even want to be in the same room with me right now."

"Peter, don't think like that. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Yeah. Doesn't look that way."

"Peter, he's a big boy. He just got some- unexpected news. It's okay for him to want to be on his own for a while."

"I guess." Peter moved to look up at her now, frown lines rightly in place. "He just- he looked so sad again. I thought we were done with sad."

"Peter," El said, shaking her head. "Llife is always going to bring ups and downs. You can't simply avoid unpleasantness. It's always going to be there. What matters most, is how you go about handling it." She paused, not expecting a response. "That is the bravest little boy I know" she said, pointing to the stair case. "And I have confidence that he can get through this."

Peter turned then, his lips curving slightly. "You really care about him, don't you?"

El nodded immediately. Her answer made known. "Of course I do."

Peter returned her nod, knowing he felt similarly. Yet, he truly hoped El would have the courtesy not to ask.

"Peter?" El questioned suddenly.

"Hm?"

"Remember what we were talking about a couple of weeks ago-?"

"El.. " Peter sighed. "I knew this was coming."

"Hun, you can't just avoid this."

The agent ran a hand down his face. "Do not start this with me. Not now."

"But hun, we never finished talking about this. Neal came along and then-"

"El, that's the only reason you're bringing it up again."

"We've been discussing this for a long time now. You can't just push it away."

"I can and I will. I don't want to worry about that right now. There is too much going on." He paused, closing his eyes briefly. "Can we please just discuss this another time?"

She hesitated, contemplating if she should let him off the hook for right now. "Fine, mister. But you are not getting out of this."

El huffed then, standing up from the couch. "I'm gonna go get some snacks for when Neal comes down." Her tone was matter-of-fact and Peter could help but envy her unwavering optimism. "Now, you stop sitting here throwing yourself a pity party. I won't stand for it."

Her heels clicked away and Peter kept his eyes closed, head leaned far back against the couch. He simply couldn't deal with anything outside of the present chaos as of right now. He just couldn't handle it. He sat for a few moments longer before deciding he had enough of just idly sitting. This wasn't productive at all. He should go upstairs, see how Neal was doing.

He opened his eyes then, ready to move. When suddenly his plan was stopped in its tracks by the sound of quiet footsteps next to him.

"Peter," The once frenetic voice sounded soft and collected now and Peter turned to meet its teenaged source before him. " Can we talk?"


	15. Chapter 15

Bruce Caffrey was angry. As he monotonously paced his cramped, religiously guarded cell, he soon discovered that he was far past angry. At this moment, he was fully enraged. And at his traitorous, good for nothing son, in particular. The trial was set to take place in two days from now and that boy had done nothing to help him. He had left him to fend for himself behind bars while he went off gallivanting with the Burkes.

Of all people, his son chose to spend these few days with the one and only Agent Burke.

He was the reason his son almost got caught on multiple occasions and nearly foiled his immaculately planned heists.

He was the reason his son couldn't always get the necessary supplies on time and failed to complete expected pieces by the day he had requested them.

He was the reason he was caught that last, fatal time when he had his son by his neck. The only position he deserved to be in after what he did to him.

And ultimately, he was the reason his putrid son was still alive.

Bruce paced and he paced, rage engulfing the deep crevices of his mind and revenge turning in his gut. He wasn't going to stand for this.

Especially not right now. For right now a guard was already stationed outside of his cell to lead him away. After all, it was one o'clock already. Time for mandatory mental health services.

WCWCWCWC

El had been right. This news wasn't shocking, however. El was inclined to being right.

Neal had in fact appeared back downstairs. Yes, voice soft and composure intact, he had returned downstairs.

He had returned downstairs to talk to Peter.

Peter immediately righted himself at the teen's question, instantly turning to face him.

"Uh, yeah." Peter moved over on the couch, leaving more than enough room beside him for the boy. "Are you okay?"

Neal reluctantly moved to sit down next to him, the mixture of emotions on his face seeming dauntingly unreadable.

"Peter," Neal's voice was low, but his tone was determined nonetheless. "My dad does not have schizophrenia."

The agent stared perplexedly at the boy, startled by his blunt comment. "Neal, what do you mean? We don't know anything for sure yet-"

"No, I know him. And he doesn't have it." His voice trailed off then, as did his gaze. His eyes were roaming all around the living room, landing anywhere but Peter's stare. "He couldn't have."

Peter sighed then, recognizing Neal's reluctance to accept this possibility. "Neal, even if he does have the disorder, nothing was your fault. You didn't cause his actions." The kid still didn't respond and Peter sighed again.

"Neal," he began, his tone an almost-plea. "Look at me."

After a moment, the kid did turn to look at him and Peter almost wished he hadn't. The sadness and despair that radiated from his look physically stung the agent.

"Neal," He repeated, the boy's current state leaving him void of any commonplace reassurances he had prepared.

"I would have known, Peter." Neal ran a hand through his hair, barely making eye contact with the agent. "I would have done something."

"You couldn't have known-"

"Yes, I could have."

"It can be very difficult to detect a disease of such magnitude, Neal. Especially when he portrayed signs of erratic behavior since you were born-"

"He tried to kill me, Peter."

Peter paused only briefly."Neal.."

"My father tried to kill me.. And I let him, Peter. Now, tell me more about how I couldn't have known."

And Peter was glad Neal wasn't looking at him then. He wouldn't have wanted to him to see the widening of his eyes or sense the unpleasant chill that suddenly ran down his spine.

Bruce had in fact attempted to do such a thing. The agent knew that. He had been there.

"Neal, you need to listen to me." Peter persisted, his throat drier than it probably should have been. "It is not your fault. You really couldn't have known and even if you did, what could you have really done about it?"

Neal tensed up then and Peter instantly regretted his words. "That's not what I meant."

"No," Neal took a deep breath finally moving to meet the agent's gaze. "That's true. I couldn't have done anything about it. Just like I didn't do anything about it before. But you knew that already."

"I didn't mean it like that."

Neal paused, briefly closing his eyes. "No," He said after a moment and Peter raised an eye brow. "I know you didn't." Neal took a deep breath before continuing. "I was just mad, okay? You're right."

"No, I'm not right, Neal." The agent said suddenly, not a fan of the boy's unusual passivity. "I didn't mean it like that."

Neal sighed then, his face resigned. "But what about Rule four?" He asked quietly. "Peter's always right."

The agent blinked suddenly, caught off guard by Neal's unexpected observation. "Neal," He said and the boy stared directly at him this time, his eyes boring far less anger than moments earlier. "That's not a thing."

The kid managed a weak smile then, running a hand through his hair yet again. "Sorry for flipping out."

Peter sighed, running a hand down his face. "It's fine. Everyone needs to rant once in a while. I get it, Neal."

The kid only nodded, a contemplative look in his eye. "Peter," He started, voice low as he moved to stare briefly into his lap. "You ever read Nicole Krauss' _The History of Love_?"

Peter only shook his head no, oddly intrigued.

Neal continued after a moment, his mind seeming miles away. "Well, in it, Krauss stated that there are two types of people in the world. Those who prefer to be sad among others, and those who prefer to be sad alone."

"Oh." Peter chuckled slightly, hoping he'd discovered the method to this kid's madness. "I take it you're a fan of the first method."

Neal nodded. "Yeah. Well, just because I prefer it doesn't mean it was ever an option before."

Peter sighed then, leaning his head back on the cushions, his exhaustion suddenly presenting itself. "Well, now it is."

Neal smiled, moving to mimic the agent's position. "Hm. I wonder if I'm abusing it just a little."

"Definitely not." The agent replied promptly. "I've been doing the same thing with El for years. We're not meant to go through every part of life alone, Neal. Especially not the difficult ones."

Neal titled his head to face the agent then, his eyes questioning. "Peter, do you think I'd ever have to live with him again?"

Peter only scoffed and Neal frowned. "Peter, I asked you a question over here."

"Really?" Peter feigned bewilderment, his lips curving slightly. "And here I am waiting for the punch line."

WCWCWCWC

"Hey Satch, that's not for you." El reprimanded, shifting the plate of leftover cookies far away from the pup's line of sight. "Peter, don't leave them so close to the edge of the table. You know he can get to it there."

"Who? Neal? Hun, I've told him five times to stay outside already. He just won't listen." El hit Peter's shoulder with the jacket of her book while Neal just rolled his eyes.

"That's not nice, mister."

Peter only shrugged, yawning slightly as he did so. "I'm practically asleep over here. Can we please do something to liven this night up a little?"

"And what exactly would like to do, Peter?" El asked, gaze still fixed on her book. "It's almost eleven at night."

Peter just shrugged again, no immediate answer coming to mind.

"Can I turn on the museum expo on the history channel?" Neal asked, motioning to the TV. "It should be pretty interesting."

"Are you kidding me?" Peter turned to stare disbelievingly at the boy. "No way. I'm already half asleep-"

"Peter, if you just gave it a chance-"

"Boys, boys." El's no-nonsense voice put an immediate end to the bickering. "That sounds lovely, Neal."

"Two against one." Neal muttered, reaching to grab the remote, promptly turning it to the appropriate channel.

"Neal's right, hun." El added, closing her book to avert her gaze to the TV as well. These things really are interesting and they can be exciting too." She sighed, a contemplative look on her. "You know what would be really fun to do right now?"

"I don't know. Painting?"

"Putting Neal outside?"

Neither Neal nor Peter supplied the correct answer so after a stern look her grinning husband's way, El continued on.

"Touring an art gallery. Or really, _Grey Art Gallery _at NYU," She added, voice regretful. "If it wasn't still on lock down, being scoured for evidence by the FBI.."

"Hun," Peter sighed, moving to squeeze her hand briefly. "I know you're still upset. But they'll re-open it before you know it. And this time it will go off without a hitch. I promise."

"Yeah, I know that." El said, clearing her throat. "Didn't mean to be a party pooper."

"No, you're really not." Neal interjected, making discreet eye contact with Peter. "I'd be bummed too."

"Yeah." Peter agreed, giving Neal a quick nod. "But hun, you know what's better than going all the way to Washington Square to see your favorite painting?"

El turned from the TV then, a perplexed look on her face. "No, I don't- Wait, where'd Neal go?"

Peter ignored her question in exchange for putting his hands over his wife's eyes.

"Peter, what on earth are you doing?"

"Nothing, hun. Just- Neal went to go grab something really quick."

"And what does that have to do with your hands over my eyes? Hun?"

Peter once again chose to ignore her question, grinning as Neal suddenly came down the stairs with El's gift in tow.

"Hun, you have to answer my question first. What's better than going all the way to Washington Square to see your favorite painting?"

"I don't know." El said quietly, voice curious. "What?"

"Well, having your very own version right at home." He finished, removing his hands from his inquisitive wife's eyes. "Neal made you something, hun."

And Peter wished he could live in that moment forever as he watched El's eyes widen significantly, a delighted shriek escaping her mouth.

"Oh my goodness, Neal." She exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear as she took the painting out of the boy's hands. "You didn't.."

Neal smiled back as he watched her inspect every detail of the painting before hugging it tightly to her chest.

"Neal, it's remarkable. It's just remarkable." She was stuttering now and Peter looked up to smile at the boy.

"I think she likes it, Neal."

"Like it? Sweetie, I love it." El stood up and squeezed the boy tight, cautious of the priceless gift held firmly in her hand. "I absolutely love it. This is one of the most breathtaking, heartfelt gifts I have ever gotten, Neal."

"Hey, what about your wedding ring, El?" Peter grinned, standing up as well.

"Not now, hun." El advised before turning to give her husband a quick kiss on the cheek. "I have to go hang this up right now." She stood for a moment, her eyes fixed on the painting. "And I know just where to put it."

El turned on her heel promptly, setting out towards the kitchen, a curious Peter and Neal following close behind her. Upon entering the kitchen, El immediately walked up to the large bay window that lined the side wall and reached up to hold it in place, fitting it nicely in a patch of a plain, white wall, right above where the window begun.

"The light that comes out of this window when the sun is out is incredible. And the sunsets are unreal. I spend most of my time in here cooking, just staring out of this window. Except now, I'll just be staring a few inches above it." She paused moving one hand so that the boys could see where she had positioned it.

"This is my favorite place in the entire house and I want it right here. Where me and my cooking buddy can just stare at it for hours." She informed, still grinning. "What do you guys think?"

Neal paused for a few moments, simply staring at the spot, his heart feeling almost-giddy as he recalled the memories associated with it.

_He mindlessly rolled the dough, one by one, finding his gaze lost outside of the window instead of focused solely on the task before him. _

_As he leaned against the counter top, rolling the sweet-smelling dough between his palms and watching the pink and purple sun set from outside of the window, he had no ability to feel anything but unadulterated happiness. He couldn't remember feeling this care-free ever before._

"It's perfect, El." Neal said, nodding at the woman's question. "It's perfect."

Peter stood stationary, just admiring the view, a delighted smile on his face as well. "You have such an eye, El. And you know, we've always wanted to put something there. That spot's been empty for years."

"Yeah." El agreed. "We just never had the right thing to put here before." She turned from the agent to look up at the painting one again. "This kitchen was always missing something."

"Not anymore." Peter added, moving to search through the tool drawer, eager to hang up the gift in its rightful spot. "Now, it's got everything it needs."

WCWCWCWC

A/N - Hallelujah! He finally gave her the dang painting. Felt like that was necessary say.. That is all.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N - Really sorry about the delayed update. Things have been bleh and hectic. But, anywho, without further ado.. (hey, rhyming.)

WCWCWCWC

"I still don't understand why we have to do this." Neal's voice was flustered as he cleaned away the plates from breakfast, his mind on a topic he so wished he could forget. At least for right now.

"Neal, we don't really have a choice." Peter sighed as he helped clear off the table, utensils in hand. "Besides, it should be good for you. You wanted to know more information about the trial, anyway. Well, here's your chance."

"I guess." Neal idly smoothed down the already flattened tablecloth, his mind wandering. "It just seems so much more real now."

"That's because it is real." Peter snorted and Neal attempted a weak glare. "And after tomorrow, it'll all be over with."

Neal nodded, straightening out the stacked plates unnecessarily. "What's her name again?"

"It's um - Juliana Tanner." Peter informed." And according to Bancroft, she's one of the best in the business. So cheer up, will you?"

Neal only nodded before following Peter into the kitchen.

"Oh, sweetie, you can just drop those plates right there." El looked almost as flustered as Neal did as she hurried to clean up the kitchen.

"The case worker should be here any minute. You two should go wait in the living room. I'll only be a second."

"'Okay, hun." Peter put the utensils in the sink before motioning for Neal to follow him outside. The kid was too frazzled for comfort and Peter knew that wouldn't look too good to the counselor. In a situation like this one, first impressions are vital.

"Neal, you look like you just got caught robbing a bank. Will you lighten up, please?" Peter chuckled as he sat down on the couch motioning for a reluctant Neal to join him. "She is coming here to help you."

"I know that." Neal's voice was frustrated as he flicked unseen dust from his shirt. "I just don't why she has to come right now. The trial isn't until tomorrow and I really didn't plan on thinking about it before then."

"Alright. I get that. But it's important to know what's going to happen tomorrow. You don't want to be in the dark about something so important."

Neal nodded. "Is she gonna ask me any questions?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Peter looked at the boy quizzically before moving to straighten out some items on the coffee table.

"Like questions about my dad?"

"Neal, I'm sure she won't ask anything she doesn't need to."

"Yeah." Neal nodded once again, relaxing slightly. He certainly didn't think that this is what he would be doing on his last, stress-free and father-free day. He hoped with all he had that this would be a short enough meeting.

_Ding_

"Oh, shoot." A projected voice echoed in from the kitchen and both men turned to face it. "Peter, get the door. I'll be right in."

Peter stood without delay, turning to head to the door. "Neal, it'll all be fine. Okay?"

"Okay."

Peter nodded, finding the response to be satisfactory, before moving to open the door and let in their not so highly anticipated guest.

"Hello, Mrs. Tanner." Peter held out his hand to the pleasant looking woman before him. "Please, come in."

The woman looked quite business professional, wearing a navy blue pant suit, quaint emerald earrings, and black high heels taller than any he'd ever seen on El. She smiled kindly at him before taking his hand in hers. Her genuine grin reflected enough eagerness for every member of the hardly enthusiastic Burke household, and for that, he was grateful.

"I take it, you're Agent Peter Burke." She said kindly, making her way into the foyer. " I believe we spoke on the phone."

"Yes, we did. It's great to finally meet you. And thank you again for helping us with this mess of a case."

The woman laughed then, showing herself into the living room. "Don't you worry, Mr. Burke. I deal specifically with CPS cases, and trust me, this is not the worst of them." She paused then, a more earnest look on her face. "Well, in the legal sense, I mean."

Peter nodded, face scrounged suddenly, before following her into the living room. "Well, here's the man of the hour." He said, motioning to the kid who suddenly stood up from the couch, his hand outstretched.

"Neal Caffrey. It's a pleasure to meet you." The woman shook his proffered hand, smile reappearing in its rightful place.

"Well, Neal Caffrey, I've certainly heard a lot about you. The pleasure is all mine."

Neal smiled, seeming far more relaxed than he had moments earlier.

"Well, you can have a seat anywhere you like." Peter informed. He watched as Juliana took a seat a chair across from the couch before moving back to his previous seat next to Neal.

"Is it alright if I lay some papers out on the table?"

"Sure." Peter said, curiously eyeing the black binder that she had with her. The front of the binder was labeled, _The State v. Bruce Caffrey_ and Peter found himself slightly irritated just by reading the man's name.

Thankfully, Peter soon found himself distracted from the unpleasant nuisance by the sound of his wife's familiar voice.

"Hello, Mrs. Tanner." El entered the living room, setting a tray of neatly drinks on the empty side of the coffee table. "Sorry, that took a little longer than expected. I hope you're a fan of coffee."

"Oh of course, Mrs. Burke." Juliana said, shaking the woman's extended hand. "I practically live on the stuff."

El chuckled before taking an empty seat next to Juliana. "Join the club."

Juliana smiled back at her before taking a moment to look around the room, inspecting the characters of her latest case. "You all seem like a nice bunch." She said before looking down at some paper work in her hand. "Don't worry, this will be quick and easy. I just want to go over some of the basics with you. Primarily, I am here for you all. So any questions or concerns you may have, just send them my way."

"That's great, thank you." El said before reaching for a pen and paper from the table to jot down notes. And Neal watched, slightly struck by the gesture while Peter just shook his head, amusedly.

"So let's get down to business, shall we?" Juliana asked, turning to face Neal. "So, Mr. Caffrey-"

"Oh. Please, just call me Neal." An odd look flashed briefly across the boy's features and he was glad Peter wasn't sitting across from him to notice it.

"Alright, Neal it is." Juliana said, not at all struck by the teen's request. "In fact, you all can call me Julie, for short." Neal smiled at the woman's casualness, glad that she wasn't as uptight and formal as he'd expected her to be.

"Okay. Well, to begin, the trial will take place tomorrow at eight. It will be performed as a bench trial so solely the prosecution, the defendant and his attorney will appear before the judge. With the newfound information regarding Bruce's alleged mental capacity, the case will be now be tried on the sole basis of the authenticity of this insanity plea."

"Do you know how they'll know for sure?" Neal asked hesitantly. "About whether or not he really is?"

"Well, this type of trial requires both the evaluation and testimony of forensic psychiatrists who have been monitoring your father recently. He has been required to attend mandatory mental health services at the prison twice a day since his attorney announced his new stance. As of now, it's based on the findings of the mental health professionals."

Neal nodded warily, rather fearful of his next question. "And he'll be found non-guilty if he actually did have the disorder, right?"

"Yes, that is the case. If he can prove that his judgment was impaired during the time of the incident, he can be found non-guilty by reason of insanity alone."

Neal only nodded again, feeling pained by the woman's words. How could his father not be found guilty after everything he put him through? It was far too difficult to even think about.

"Additionally," She added, her gaze still focused on Neal. "It is entirely up to you whether or not you'd like to take the stand tomorrow. I am not sure if you were already made aware of your legal rights."

"Oh." Neal said, face suddenly looking contemplative. "Do you think it's necessary for the outcome?"

Julie shook her head no, averting her gaze so that she was addressing all three of them again. "Since the case is being tried on the basis of this insanity claim, that is predominately all that matters at this point. No one is allowed to change your side of the story. The facts are all there."

Neal nodded, feeling immensely relieved. Rehashing this trauma and confronting his deceitful, maniacal father was the last thing he needed on what is likely to be the most stressful day of his life. Additionally, if his father did get off by reason of insanity, Neal certainly didn't want to be there to see it.

"Okay. I mean, I really wouldn't prefer to." His voice was low and he found himself looking at Peter quickly before turning back to the woman. The agent seemed relieved himself and Neal felt oddly reassured by the fact.

"Is that okay?"

"Yes, of course that's okay. Besides, at this point, your testimony might only help to convince the judge of his insanity." Peter and El laughed lightly then, though Neal found it demanding just to manage a small chuckle. In his opinion, Julie's statement was far too accurate for it to be considered humor.

"So, what will happen if he is in fact found not guilty?" El asked then, concern edging the contours of her face. "Would he not be sent to prison anymore?"

"Well, no. He wouldn't be sent to prison and a conviction would not be placed on his record." El frowned then and Neal fought the urge to run a frustrated hand through his hair.

"But, he wouldn't just get off scotch free. He would be sent to a mental facility until he is deemed well again."

"Yeah, but if it's a lie the entire time," Neal interjected, his frustrated voice hurried. "He could just _get well_ in a matter of weeks. And then what happens? He's just set free again? No harm done?"

"Neal." El's voice was soft and concerned and Julie interjected quickly.

"Listen, Neal. I truly understand your concern but I am sure that you have nothing to worry about. Someone actually winning by means of the insanity defense is incredibly rare and very difficult to prove. If he is truly ill, he will be placed in a mental facility for a very long time. If he is not, then he will go to prison. I promise you that."

"They don't take cases like these lightly, Neal." The agent beside him offered. "Especially not given this particular defendant's track record."

Neal only nodded, not entirely convinced.

"Peter, you are absolutely right." Julie voice was confident and precise. "No mistakes will be made on my watch."

Neal nodded again before Peter piped in with a particularly dreaded question. The corresponding answer which will soon play a large part in making all of this final. "Do you know when we'll know the verdict?"

"Well, that really occurs on a case by case basis. It depends on how long the judge will need to deliberate. But this does have the potential to be a very cut and dry case. It could really take about a few hours, at minimum."

El looked up from her paper, ceasing her scribbling of notes. "So we could know that same day?"

"Yes, most likely." And El returned back to her scribbling.

Neal sat for a moment, feeling a question come to mind. Well, it didn't exactly just come to mind. It's been the only question on his mind for days now. The one he's dreaded the most.

"Hey," Neal began suddenly, flicking his eyes from Peter to El. "Would you guys mind if I spoke to Julie privately about something? It's ju-"

"Yeah. That's fine, Neal." Peter interjected, looking to a similarly nodding El. "We don't mind."

Neal nodded back before averting his gaze to Julie. "That's okay, right?"

"Yes, of course."

Neal and Julie sat quietly for a moment as they watched the couple leave the room then, setting out towards the kitchen while El pointed out something on her note pad to Peter as they walked.

"So, Neal." Julie asked, small smile still intact. "What would you like to discuss?"

Neal suddenly felt unexpectedly fearful and he truly wished he could help it. It wasn't due to Julie or even the apparent tension of the situation. The fact of the matter is that this question had been plaguing his mind for days now. It had been the catalyst behind every eerie thought he simply couldn't get away from.

"What will happen after?" He asked, far too hurriedly. He feared that if he didn't do it then, he never would. "I wouldn't live with my father again, would I?"

"No, of course not." She answered immediately. "You won't live with him again even if he is deemed sane after a period of time. I mean, unless you choose to." Neal snorted then but didn't reply.

"Ultimately, you'd be placed in foster care. A group home of sorts. You will be living with other orphaned children or kids of CPS who are waiting for loving families to adopt them a well."

Neal sighed then, letting the reality to sink in. Foster care. He felt like simply closing his eyes and just praying for all of this to disappear. At this point, he'd take anything over confronting the inevitable.

"You seem like a very sweet boy, Neal. I'm sure the right family is out there. They're just waiting to snatch you up." Julie smiled then and Neal attempted to return it, not quite feeling such a similar optimism.

"Yup. I hear there are lots of families just dying to live with a teenaged con man. All the cute, orphaned babies are overrated, anyway."

Julie shook her head then, staring at Neal with a newfound look of sadness. "Yes, most people do prefer to adopt an infant, that is a fact and I won't lie about it. The common desire to start a relationship with a newly adopted child as soon as possible after birth is strong. Adopting an older child certainly brings a lot of unknowns."

Neal only nodded, wondering how much lower he could possibly feel.

"But," Julie continued holding up a finger. "There are in fact advantages of adopting an older child. For starters, there's not having to go through the, not always desirable, infant stage. Not everyone is interested in night feedings and changing diapers. Many parents purposely adopt older children in order to build their families immediately with a child who is already grown and matured. Maybe even one that shares similar interests. It is certainly not uncommon."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Julie sighed, maintaining eye contact with the distressed boy. "The right people won't care about that though, Neal. What does age matter when family is forever?"

Neal paused a moment before nodding. He marveled in how simple Julie had made it all sound. But he was smart enough to know it wasn't truly that simple. It couldn't be. Nothing with him ever was.

"Is that all, Neal?" Julie asked after a moment and Neal realized that he hadn't said anything for quite some time.

"Oh, yeah. Thanks." He replied quickly, his mind still elsewhere.

Julie nodded at the boy before standing up from her chair. "I'll go get Peter and Elizabeth, then. Would you like me to fill them in about what we discussed?"

Neal thought for only a second before shaking his head no and Julie gave him a quick thumbs up of acknowledgment before turning on her heel, heading towards the kitchen.

He watched her walk away, his mind still feeling dazed and confused. Julie had made it all appear to be so nice. So simple. Yes, a family would eventually want him and they'd all live happily ever after. Except, for two very apparent problems in his way.

_One, _his life had never quite resembled a fairytale in the past.

_And two, _why did he keep imagining the same two people when he pictured that unrealistic family?

The same two people who were just doing him a favor.

The same two people who would never want him as a part of their family.

And the same two people who, if he was being honest, certainly deserved family a whole lot better than him.

WCWCWCWC

A/N - Cheer up, Neal! They like you more than you think, silly. ;)


	17. Chapter 17

"Well, that took longer than expected." Peter sighed as he closed the door behind an unsurprisingly talkative Julie. "I could never have a job like that. Too stressful . You need way too much energy."

"Really? Says the FBI Agent? Hun, you chase bad guys for a living."

Peter shook his head, walking back into the living room. "It's not the same. I've never been much of a communicator or a pencil pusher. Right, Neal?"

The boy was still sitting on the couch, his mind seeming worlds away from the smirking agent.

"Hey, Neal. Back me up on this."

"Oh, um." Neal was brought back to reality by the now inquisitive agent sitting down beside him. "What?"

"It's nothing. Never mind." The agent looked skeptically from the boy to his wife and back again before simply opting to grab the remote and flip to the sports channels, tuning out the world.

"Hun." El chimed in, voice slightly frustrated. "You can't just sit around and watch TV all day. Neal-" She wisely gave up on her already checked out husband, turning to the oddly silent boy beside him.

"Neal, what would like to do today?" The kid only shrugged. "Okay, so that might not have been the most entertaining start to this morning but the day is still young."

El once again looked from the oblivious agent back to Neal, her voice taking on a more patient tone. "How about this? If you could do anything in the world right now, sweetie, what would it be?"

"Um, I don't really know." Neal's face took on a contemplative look as he genuinely thought about his answer. Usually on Sunday mornings - precisely at 10 a.m. - he would be delivering a forgery to his father. One which he had been forced to create in two days time with stolen supplies and the lingering threat of unjustified abuse. Neal loved creating art. He truly did. But, not like that.

"Nothing, really." He said after a moment, his voice frank. He suddenly moved to lean back on the couch, turning his gaze in the same direction as Peter's. "I mean, it might be fun to do nothing."

"Really, Neal?" El said, a small curve to her lips. "Out of anything in the whole wide world?"

"No, hun." Peter said suddenly, one eye still focused on the game. "Don't ask him that or we'll be on the next plane en route to the Palazzo Sasso faster than you can blink."

Neal chuckled then, shrugging in defeat. "Yeah, that's probably true."

"Okay." El conceded, voice still determined. "Within in house, then. Other than _nothing_."

"I mean, I guess I'd be fun to draw. Or sculpt or paint or something like that."

"Yeah? Well, we can do that. I mean, I'm not as good at it as you, of course, but I've always I loved arts and crafts."

"Really?" Neal smiled then, quickly pulled from his lingering state of discontent. "You think we can get Peter to do it with us?"

El laughed as her husband blinked quickly before looking over at the two of them. "Wait, what?" "Get me to do what?"

"Arts and crafts. With me and El."

"What? The game is on."

"Peter, there's always a game on." El admonished and Peter just frowned. "You can keep it on low. But you're doing this with us. You can make me something pretty."

Peter glanced from his grinning wife to the kid on the floor who looked far more hopeful than he should have, given how well briefed he was on the agent's aversion to art.

"Fine." He conceded after a minute before looking back at the screen. "How bad could it be?"

Neal grinned widely then and El popped out of her chair, eager to rummage for art supplies. "Now, that's what I like to hear."

Neal stood up too then, suddenly not wanting to stay as motionless as before. "You need help getting supplies, El?"

"Thank you, sweetie. But, I was just gonna grab some paper and markers and things from the art draw in the kitchen." Neal nodded and El thought for a moment before turning her attention to her husband.

"Oh, hun. Can you get my laptop from our room? I can play some music while we're crafting." El's smile was returned with a pitiful glare and a point towards the TV screen. "Hun, at a commercial?"

"Really, Peter-?"

"I can get it, El. If you want."

"Yes, perfect solution. Neal can get it." El fixed the agent with a frustrated glare.

"Peter, you have two feet. Neal is our guest."

_And that's a home run for Mantle._

The umpire's elevated voice was heard loud and clear and Peter looked over at the TV screen and the missed play, aghast.

Peter sighed irritated, before running a hand down his face. "Come on, El. He's not a baby. And you know how I feel about babies. Neal is a big boy and he doesn't need everything done for him, okay? He handle getting a laptop by himself." Peter turned his gaze from the TV to Neal then, his gaze almost desperate. "Right?"

"Yeah. He is right, El." Neal smiled slightly, averting his attention to the frazzled looking woman before him. "I can get it. I really don't mind."

"Well, okay. As long as you don't mind." She answered after a moment, rolling her eyes at her indolent husband. "Sorry my husband is such a lazy bum."

Peter only waved a dismissive hand at her and Neal had to chuckle.

"It's on the dresser, I think. Or it could be in the carrying bag on the floor. One of those two places."

"Got it." Neal gave El a thumbs up before turning towards the stair case and heading up the stairs.

WCWCWCWC

"Peter, check out all of the art supplies we have." El announced as she walked back into the living room, a small tray filled with paper, markers, crayons, colored pencils, and even some glue and scissors, in her hands. "We have the pencils in regular and neon. How cool is that? Why do we never use this stuff?"

"I don't know." Peter looked up to meet her gaze, suddenly having a bad feeling about where this conversation was headed. "Maybe because we're grown adults and we've never had a reason to?" Peter smirked slightly then and was graced with a light slap on his shoulder.

"Well, you walked right into the conversation this time." El said, laying out the supplies on the table. "It's your own fault."

"El, what do you want me to say? We haven't discussed this in weeks. You just want us to pick up where we left off like we're not in the middle of all this crazy hell right now?"

"Peter, I just don't want to forget about it. That's all. I know what can happen when you put off discussing such a major topic for so long. It's gets too intimidating to confront and then ultimately, you just forget about it."

"El, that is never going to happen. It's way too important to just forget about."

"I know. I guess you're right. I just don't understand why you're so unwilling to talk about it for even a minute."

"Because," Peter blurted, looking down slightly. "Unless we don't feel the same way," he paused briefly, seeming oddly reluctant to continue. "This conversation just got a heck of a lot more complicated."

El smiled then and it met her eyes in a way that Peter hadn't seen in a very long time. And Peter smiled back.

WCWCWCWC

In a few short moments, Neal was standing right outside of the Burkes' bedroom. He was hesitant to open the door, quickly realizing that he had never been in the couple's room before. Somehow, he felt as if he was evading their personal space in some way. And that was the last thing Neal wanted.

Yet regardless of the unexpected feeling, Neal opened the door slowly, soon paving the way to the couples' elegantly decorated bedroom, lit only by a dim, yet comforting sunlit glow. He glanced around for a moment before locating a light switch and quickly illuminating the room.

He looked around the space for a moment before walking directly to the Burke's dresser in order check for the requested laptop. After all, he wasn't in here to pry.

Neal made his way over to the somewhat cluttered dresser top, examining it's contents. One half was adorned with makeup, perfumes, a small jewelry box and what appeared to be quite a few Macy's gift receipts. The other half seemed far less packed, having only a few watches, a leather wallet, and some case files strewn atop of it.

Oh wait. What was that? That particular paper didn't appear to be just any old case file. Neal's roaming eyes were quickly captured it's bold letter head and golden seal on the rather official-looking document.

He wondered just what that could be.

No, he didn't.

Of course, he didn't.

_After all, he wasn't here to pry._

But, wait a moment. It wasn't prying. The laptop could easily be concealed underneath the paper for all he knew. He'd just glance at it briefly, while lifting it up to check underneath it, of course.

Mind made up and curiosity getting the better of him, he reached for the paper, feeling his throat go dry as his eyes go wide as he scanned the heading.

**_'New York State Parent's Guide to Adoption'_**

Neal paused for what felt like a solid hour, just staring at the bold header that seemed to be staring back at him with the same level of intensity.

The paper was dated a couple of weeks back and it had no visible writing on it other than a small, handwritten note in the top right corner.

_'Here is some basic information about the process. The majority of it was already discussed at our consultation. Please review it at your leisure and contact me with any questions. _

_P.S. - Keep working on that list._

_~ Cara Hilty_

Neal skimmed through the paper briefly before noticing a small post-it note attached to the bottom of it. He averted his eyes to the hand written note, noticing the title read '_Notes for Cara'. _The small paper seemed filled with arbitrary words scribbled down on it, such as, gender, nationality, age.

Except, Neal quickly discovered that the words weren't as random as they appeared. The words appeared to be written by Peter and El themselves. It seemed as if they had been narrowing down specific characteristics of some sort.

Most likely characteristics of their soon to be adopted child. Neal took a deep breath as he removed the post-it from the paper before slumping down on the corner of the couples' bed. After a moment, he began to read.

_- Nationality - No preference_

_- Religion - No preference_

_- Gender - __Boy_

Neal noticed that the original word had been crossed out, a _'no preference' _fixed in its place. Probably the work of El.

_- Only child_

_- Age - Teenaged (Preferably 13+)_

_- __Gotta love jazz and hanging out with mommy._

This sentence had also been crossed out. Probably the work of Peter.

Neal only stared at the post-it for a moment, feeling a strange, unwelcome lump in his throat. The Burkes were adopting a child. A child that they deserved. He ran a hand through his hair, taking another breathe as he moved to stick the post-it back in its rightful place.

Yes, by tomorrow, he would be out of their lives forever and they would soon have a new member of their family. A child. A child that wasn't him.

Neal shook the ridiculous after thought from his mind. Of course it wouldn't be him. The Burkes didn't need any extra drama in their lives. They didn't need a mooch, ex-con whose only purpose was to turn their lives entirely upside down.

And yet, Neal couldn't help but notice how many of those characteristics he seemed to fit.


	18. Chapter 18

"Perfect. Thank you, sweetie." Neal immediately noticed that El's voice sounded much different than it had earlier. The cheeriness to her tone seemed more strained and her once care-free eyes looked more pensive now.

"You're welcome." Neal's statement was directed to El and yet, as he let her take the computer from his hands, he found his attention diverted from her to the agent on the couch. Peter's demeanor also seemed out of the ordinary; his brow was furrowed and his eyes seemed as far away as El's had.

Neal looked from El, who was now setting the computer up on the table, to Peter, whose unfocused eyes were once again back on the TV. What was going on here? Had the couple been talking about something? It was possible that he had interrupted them. But he couldn't be too sure.

"Neal," El's voice quickly reassumed his attention. "Why are you just standing there? Come sit with me." The woman's tone seemed more relaxed now and Neal nodded, making his way over to the table.

"So, what do you want to make? I think I was thinking about making a garden." El's smile returned as she began to pick out different colored paper, settling down on the floor. "Do you know how to make flowers, Neal?"

"Um, yeah." Neal looked over at the woman, hoping his attempt to act ordinary was succeeding. After what he found upstairs and with the gnawing feeling that he had just intruded on something, this was proving to be quite the task. "I make origami flowers sometimes."

"Really?" El's face lit up instantly. "You have to show me how to do that. Peter, he makes origami flowers. Are you listening?"

"What?"

El shot Peter a look and he righted himself immediately. "Oh yeah, origami. That's quite the talent, kid."

Neal looked up from the paper instantly, averting his eyes to El before landing on Peter again. Why was the man acting so strange? Had he caused this?

"Peter," Neal asked, his voice slow as he tilted his head in the direction of the TV screen. "Who's winning?"

"Huh?" Peter questioned, his eyes going back to the screen instantly. "Um, I don't know."

Neal knew something was up then.

Oh, and had Peter just called him kid? That was certainly new.

"You don't know because it's not important, hun. Come sit with us, instead." El had just turned on some music and seemed to have reverted back to her old self almost instantly. Peter wasn't having quite the same luck.

"Okay, hun." Peter sighed moving to sit on the floor as well. "Okay."

"So, Neal," El handed the boy a piece of pink paper expectantly and Neal took it from her hands. "How do you make one of those things?"

"Here," Neal flattened the paper on the table in front of him. "I'll show you."

So Neal went about explaining the details to El, folding the paper this way and that way, careful to do so gradually. And all the while, his mouth somehow appeared to be creating words. Yes, he was explaining steps and illiciting nods from El's direction. But his mind was undoubtedly elsewhere.

So, the Burkes wanted a kid. The Burkes wanted a kid and had met with an adoption agency already.

Why did that concern him?

And why on Earth couldn't he stop thinking about it?

Now that he truly thought about it, it did seem strange that the couple didn't have kids. They had a dog that they loved like family, but no actual child of their own. Neal had simply assumed that not all couples wanted children. Both El and Peter had careers and pretty fast-paced lives. Screaming one year olds and needy toddlers isn't everyone's cup of tea, after all.

Well, technically, it isn't the Burkes either.

So, the Burkes wanted a teenager.

Why did that concern him?

There were plenty of teenagers in this world. It wasn't like he was the only one.

And Neal shook the thought out of his head and hoped El hadn't noticed. Did he really want that? Did he really want the Burkes to - adopt him?

He had never truly admitted that to himself before.

But as he looked quickly from the attentive, smiling woman in front of him to the clueless agent making some sort of paper airplane across from him, he realized that he did. He really did.

Neal noticed with a jolt that this sentiment didn't stem from a general desire to have a family. No. It was much more than that. Peter and El had helped him when he had nobody else. They had actually cared. They still care.

And whether Neal got adopted by another family the moment he stepped foot in foster care, he knew that it wouldn't be the same. The couple wouldn't be them.

"Hey." El's voice was gentle as she tilted her head slightly at the boy in front of her. "You okay, sweetie?"

Neal looked up immediately then, strangely confused to see four pairs of eyes staring at him intently. Yet, as he registered his idle fingers and no longer moving mouth, he concluded that he must have stopped midst task, clearly lost in thought.

"Oh yeah. I'm fine. I was just thinking about the next step." He hoped the lie didn't sound too unpolished as he set about continuing. "This last part always confuses me."

"Oh." El nodded, sounding satisfied with his response. "You had me worried there for a minute."

"Sorry." Neal pushed away his harassing thoughts as he handed the now completed flower to El. "Does this make up for it?"

El grinned back at the smiling teen before taking the flower out of his hand. "Of course." She looked over at her husband then, extending her arm so he could inspect it. "I told you to make me something pretty, mister. This is pretty. That airplane is not."

"Who said it's for you?" Peter asked before launching the airplane at the kid next to him. "You might make 'pretty' flowers but I make the best airplanes around."

"Really, Peter?" Neal examined the pretty standard paper airplane that was just flung at him.

"No. But it's not that bad either. Hey, at least it landed where I wanted it to." Peter smirked then and Neal shrugged before sending it right back at him, trying not to laugh as Peter swatted it out of his hair.

"You're right. It works pretty good."

"Hey, not fair." Peter put the airplane back on the table before turning to address both Neal and his wife. "Besides, you guys should be making something for me. Not the other way around."

Peter raised an expectant eyebrow at the two seemingly perplexed faces, quite confident that he had outsmarted them.

Neal reached for a piece of plain paper, finally deciding to begin work on his own drawing. "Why?" He questioned before turning to look directly at the agent. "You're birthday's not for like two weeks. August 25th, right?"

Peter only huffed at the cocky kid and El looked up from her mangled piece of paper, chuckling. "I didn't even know what he was talking about. That's impressive, Neal."

"Not really." Neal said, lips curving slightly. "I only know because he told me."

"What do you mean?" El asked, eyes curious.

"Last year, around this time, he was chasing me in Spain for a painting that I actually didn't have," And Neal stopped to glare at the agent for a brief moment. "I remember it was August because of the terrible heat. Anyway, when he _finally_ caught up, he told me to just give up the panting as an early birthday present. Remember?" Neal turned to the agent then, grin back in place.

"Yeah, I remember. And don't look so innocent. You might not have had the painting but you were still in Spain collecting illegal art supplies."

"Fine, you're right." Neal reached for the colored pencils, finally deciding on what exactly he should draw. "But I ended up getting you something better, anyway."

"Hardly." Peter snorted and El looked up, knowingly.

"I finally know something that you both know." She announced, almost sing-songy.

"El knows?" Neal chuckled, turning to look at the agent.

"Well, let's see. You sent me a birthday card to my house- from jail. She obviously knows."

Neal only smiled, still proud of his handmade gift. "True."

"And it was lovely, Neal. You know, we still have it."

"Really?" Neal raised an eye brow, slightly shocked.

"Yeah. For evidence purposes." Peter said quickly, shooting a stern look at his wife and Neal only chuckled before wisely letting the topic go.

WCWCWCWC

The hours had passed by rather quickly and quite a few paper airplanes and somewhat distorted origami flowers later, late afternoon put an end to their activities.

"I think it's time we had some lunch. What do you boys think?"

There were two nods and even a bark from a tired Satchmo who decided to join them a little later on, curled up by Neal's feet.

"Alright. Neal, you want to help?"

"Yeah, of course." He said, still looking down at his picture, colored pencil in hand. "Just one second."

"Are we finally going to see what you've been doing over there?" Peter asked, a frustrated whine to his voice. "It's been two hours."

"Yeah, sweetie. We're dying over here." El moved over to pick up Satchmo, not without trying to glance at the secretive project behind Neal's hand.

"It's a surprise." Neal lifted the picture slightly, examining it once more before looking to the faces hovering before him. "Okay, it's done now." He handed the drawing to Peter and El moved over, Satchmo still in hand, to see the final product as well.

"Jesus." Peter's grin was nearly as wide as El's as they both just stared at the drawing, in awe. "That is unreal, Neal. Jesus Christ."

"Oh my god, sweetie." El began laughing now as she took the picture out of Peter's hand, moving to examine it further. "It is so beautiful." She squealed in delight as she gently put down the Labrador, bringing the picture right up to her eyes. "It's us. It's all of us."

The drawing was set right in the Burkes living room, with Peter, El, himself, and even Satchmo - all doing Arts and Crafts. El was making an origami flower, singing to the music playing from the computer, Peter was launching a paper air plane towards the ceiling, with quite a few replicas on the table before him, and Neal was drawing this exact photo with a sleeping Satchmo curled up by his feet.

Neal grinned back just as wide as he watched the couple stare in shock at the drawing. He had chosen to duplicate a moment that he never wanted to forget. And for some reason, that made the Burkes reactions, that much more special.

"I'm glad you like it."

"How could we not?" El blurted hurriedly as she continued to stare at the picture that her husband had already taken back in his possession. "It's incredible. I mean, everything is exactly the same. That's the outfit I'm wearing, and the jewelry I'm wearing, and all our eyes are the right color and- I just love it."

"Neal, this is insane- how" But Peter stopped himself midsentence by shocking observation. "Hold on, the game is on the screen." The agent looked up to shake his head at the boy, grin still rightfully intact. "You drew the game on the TV."

"I mean, I had two hours." Neal joked, feeling a faint tint to his cheeks.

"You know what?" El exclaimed, grabbing the drawing from her husband's hand for the last time. "This, mister, is going up on the fridge."

Neal blinked only once. "What?"

"The fridge, sweetie." El turned on her heel then, suddenly on a mission. "This is going to be displayed right up on the fridge.

Peter laughed then and a hand on his shoulder pulled Neal from his startled trance. "Sorry, kid. I guess you can only luck out once."

"Yeah. It's fine." Neal feigned a laugh as he set out behind El en route to the kitchen. "I've never been too lucky."

Peter only shook his head as he followed Neal into the kitchen just in time to see El place the picture on the top-most part of the fridge right above one of the Burkes' Christmas card photos.

Neal watched, eyes far too wide, as she secured the picture using a small heart shaped magnet with the words, '_Home is where the heart is'_ etched into it. He had instantly loved that magnet that first time he'd spotted it.

"Don't you just love it?" El asked, standing back to examine the work in its new location.

"Yeah," Neal, felt his throat get shamefully tight as he looked over at the beaming woman beside him. "I love it."

Neal's mind involuntarily went back to his harassing thoughts from earlier. And the pink post-it note on the fridge labeled 'to-do list', certainly wasn't helping matters. But he blocked those pestering thoughts out of his mind for right now, determined to keep his feelings in the realm of reality for a change.

And after sharing a forced, secret eye roll with the oblivious agent beside him, Neal and El set about making lunch.

WCWCWCWC

A/N - Hope that last line isn't misleading. Neal loved it but Peter thinks it's lame lol. You know how he is. Anyway, big court date is coming up really soon. Get pumped. xD


	19. Chapter 19

It was a sad fate. No, it was a cruel one. Neal couldn't sleep at all the night before the trial. He'd spent hours in a fit, warding off harsh thoughts as he pleaded for the daylight.

He couldn't take the waiting anymore. He needed to know the verdict now.

An outcome was inevitable. Unless the whole legal system shut down over night, an outcome would certainly be inevitable. It would be easier if he just knew it already. This way, he could plan his arrangements in advance.

He had closed his eyes on numerous occasions, hoping the darkness would eventually take him away from his conscious thoughts and twisting nerves. But this was easier said than done.

He had pictured his father again. He had pictured the abuse and the rage, of course, but he had also pictured something else. He recalled his father's abrupt, almost bipolar mood swings. He remembered how many times he'd wondered, plainly out of fear, if his father was insane. How many times he'd questioned his father's true grip on reality.

_'We still have to look into it, but he's claiming to have chronic schizophrenia.'_

_"If the judge finds the insanity claim to be true, it will result in a not guilty verdict."_

Just out of curiosity, what are the odds of the legal system shutting down over night?

He should have asked Julie that.

_'Peter, my dad does not have schizophrenia. I know him. And he doesn't have it. He couldn't have.'_

Well, his father certainly knew how to pick a convincing defense, that was certain. But after all, a defense was all it was. All it could be.

And if it wasn't, well, Neal would run.

He had decided. He'd tossed, he'd turned, he'd prayed, and ultimately, he had decided.

If his father was found to be mentally unstable, if he was found to be not-guilty as a result, then there was no way Neal was sticking around. How could he, without his father behind bars? Heck, he'd manage to escape even when he was behind bars. Neal knew he couldn't risk it. He would just have to leave. Give up his things, his few close friends and the city he loved, in a blink. Yes, he'd give it all up and he would run. He'd have to.

After all, he did value his life above it all.

Didn't he?

He had lied awake and he had stared at the ceiling. The same white ceiling that had felt so empty, so foreign to him only a couple of days earlier. Yet, it didn't seem so foreign anymore. Now, it almost felt comforting, familiar, even. And he realized yet another reason for his troubling sleeplessness; he didn't want to let it all go. It was his last night at the Burkes and tomorrow would make for his last day. If he went to sleep, he would wake up. And once he awakened, it would all come to an abrupt, albeit expected, end. It would just be gone. The peace, the security.. the people.

Neal could have never imagined feeling so close to people who weren't even his family. He could have never anticipated feeling so at home in a place he could hardly consider home.

It was possible he could take a little more waiting. Maybe the verdict could hold off until tomorrow.

That was the last thought to cross through Neal's shortly unconscious mind before sunlight seeped through the windows and his harassing sleep came to an abrupt end.

He awoke to the sound of birds whose giddy chirps failed to convey the inevitable grief that this day would bring, to the pure sunlight that possessed no similarity to the murky, distressing thoughts that already clouded his mind, and to the faint, far too cheery calls from two familiar, nearing voices.

Voices of whom clearly didn't understand his pain.

After all, what could be so thrilling on a day as dismal as this one?

WCWCWCWC

"Neal, Neal!" El's voice could suddenly be heard loud and clear and Neal rubbed his eyes tiredly, trying to dull his already sprouting headache.

"Oh good, you're up." Peter got to the door first, his grin an almost unnerving width.

"I wonder why." Neal practically whined, tempted to throw a pillow at the boisterous agent.

"Oh, don't be so hard on him." An equally grinning El made her way down the hall then, sidling up next to her husband by the door. "We have good news."

Neal removed his hands from his eyes then, staring inquisitively at the couple. What news could possibly justify waking him up so early on a day he so desperately wished to avoid?

Wait, a minute. It wasn't early. It was already eleven. Why on earth was he so tired?

Neal moved to get out of bed then, running a hand through his disheveled locks.

Thinking clearly suddenly, he supposed it could have something to do with the stress-induced insomnia that took up half of his night.

He stifled a yawn as he neared the now antsy looking couple.

Yes, that could definitely have something to do with it.

"Good news?" His question was hesitant and the couple nodded in response.

"Can we come in?" Neal nodded at the woman before sitting down on the bed, the couple soon mirroring his pose.

"Neal, something happened with the trial." El paused, wondering how exactly to phrase her next words.

"What?" Neal's response was immediate and suddenly the insomnia was no match from him. The sluggishness dissipated instantly, his eyes and ears instantly on call.

"Listen, Neal." Peter interjected, attempting to taper his smile as he spoke. "Don't get too excited. We just got some unexpected news-"

"Yes, I got that. But what-"

"They decided to do the trial a little differently." El exclaimed and Neal looked over at her immediately.

"Different? How different?"

"Well, I don't really know." El shrugged then, looking slightly sheepish. "Peter, you know more of the specifics of it-"

"Oh my god- I'm begging you. Will someone please just tell me?"

"Fine, okay. Calm down." Peter tried not to laugh at the kid's borderline hysteria as he regained his own composure, recalling the details.

"The DA called this morning. She said they made a last minute decision to conduct the proceedings as a bifurcated trial."

"A what?"

"Can you just listen for a minute, please?"

"Fine. Sorry."

Peter just rolled his eyes at the frenzied kid before carrying on. "Apparently, this type of case occurs all of the time when the defendant pleads insanity. It sort of divides the trial into two separate phases instead of just grouping everything into one."

Neal managed a nod, ignoring the anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach. "What are the phases?"

"Well, the first one deals with the crime itself, basically. In this part, the judge will determine whether the defendant is guilty based on their crimes alone. Then, if the defendant is found guilty, there will be a second phase where they'll raise the insanity defense. That will determine their sentence."

Neal just stared at the agent who was talking far more hurriedly than usual before glancing at the woman beside him who still hadn't managed to fully shed her grin. And then he spoke, his voice tentative.

"Please tell me there's gonna be a phase two."

The couple nodded instantly and Neal felt more relieved than he had in a while, the anxiety and the harassing knot in his stomach, departing easily.

"He was found guilty?"

"Yes." Peter shook his head then, feeling as if none of it was quite real. "We just got the call."

"You're kidding me." And Neal almost laughed, betting his grin was wider than the two of theirs put together.

"Sweetie, isn't this just incredible? Told you we had good cause for waking you." El pinched one of his cheeks then and Neal felt both a surge of warmth and not so subtle embarrassment at the gesture. Luckily, he was too happy to really care.

"Yeah. You did."

"We wanted to tell you about the change when the DA first called." Peter added. "But it was pretty early. We didn't want to wake you."

Neal nodded his understanding, not too fazed by the observation. "It's okay, Peter. I don't care."

"Okay, good. Pl-" Peter paused before nodding back, unsure if he should proceed with what he had begun to say. "Plus, weren't sure at first if this change was even the best idea. You would've just been worried."

Neal stared at the agent then, seeing the beginning of his familiar frown lines resurfacing all too quickly. And something dawned on him. Peter and El had been worried too. And all day, for that matter. He just couldn't understand what was the matter with him. He kept overlooking their evident concern. Like it was something that just couldn't be.

"You're right. I would've been."

He watched as Peter snapped back to himself then as he realized that, for now, the worry was over. The worst of it had passed.

"Okay. Well, that doesn't matter now, anyway. I think it's time to celebrate. Don't you, hun?" Peter looked over at his wife then and she made her response known by quickly getting to her feet.

"Of course, hun. I'm gonna make a celebratory breakfast and my dear, you get to help me set the table." El poked at her husband's arm before turning to the still smiling boy on the bed. "Neal, you get dressed and then come downstairs. You can help me with breakfast."

"You got it."

El smiled at the boy before taking hold of her husband's arm and pulling him upwards. "Let's go, hun. This celebration is not going to get ready by itself."

Peter groaned and Neal could only laugh as he watched the agent be all but dragged to the door.

Of course, Neal still had some waiting to do. They all did. But at least this day was off to a good start. And at this point, that was all he could ask for.

WCWCWCWC

A/N - Woo, Neal! Things are looking up for him already. Hope you enjoyed this as much as Neal did. ;) Comments and suggestions are always appreciated. Thanks for staying tuned!


	20. Chapter 20

The minutes ticked by slowly, almost tauntingly, as he paced the long waiting room in silence. Well, silence on the exterior at least.

His mind raged with thoughts of defeat, betrayal, death, and ultimately, revenge. His head was pounding, his footsteps were heavy, his hands were in shackles and his pocket was rattling tantalizingly. Rattling with enough pills to knock him out for hours, that is. All of which were obtained legally as they were physician prescribed to combat his growing signs of mania.

Quickly and inconspicuously, he stole a glance into the pocket which contained his hoarded pills. He needed to make sure that they were right where he needed them. The doctor had monitored him acutely before prescribing him one pill a day. Of course, he hadn't abided by the doctor's orders. That would have been foolish of him. No, you can't get a high off of just one pill alone.

"Mr. Caffrey, will you please take a seat? The trial is set to adjourn in under ten minutes." Bruce's state appointed attorney had his head buried in a file and his fist warped around a mug of desperately needed caffeine. "We have to discuss phase two of the proceedings. You need to be adequately prepared."

Bruce sucked in a ragged breathe. He had gone days now without his alcoholic fix. Days. And he was not coping well with it. He needed drugs in his system. Any sort of mind altering drug he could get his hands on. At first, his body merely craved the intoxicating substance. However, now, it was mercilessly demanding it.

"Yeah. I'm coming." Bruce peered around the room quickly, spotting two guards on opposite ends of the room. One of which he recognized to be the no-nonsense, burly man who had tightened his handcuffs to a maddening extreme. And the other, standing quite a distance away, was the older guard's probie. He was new on the job and Bruce was undoubtedly going to use that to his advantage. What, haven't you ever heard of hazing the new guy?

Well, this would certainly be something like that.

He walked swiftly to the younger guard, making sure to plaster a hardly genuine, unnerving smile on his face.

"Hello," He scanned the man's name tag quickly before making eye contact with him once again. "-Hello, John." The guard looked perplexed for the briefest moment before smiling back at the man, reasonably intrigued.

"Hello to you too, Mr. Caffrey." Bruce caught the guard's quick glance at his mentor. Unfortunately for him, his partner appeared to be rather preoccupied as he chatted up a legal assistant who seemed ever so taken by his badge and dime-a-dozen cop uniform. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Yes actually, there is." Bruce kept his manufactured smile intact, fighting the urge to shake his head at the naive boy's inability to see through his façade. "I was wondering if there was time to use the restroom before the second half of the trial begins. I'm sure there is." He motioned to his lawyer, sitting close by and yet out of earshot from the two men's conversation. "My attorney said it was okay."

"Oh." The younger guard looked conflicted. He had clearly never dealt with a situation similar to this one. At least not without his partner by his side. John hesitated for a moment, an internal dilemma ensuing. One part of him seemed to take pity on the guy while a different part merely scorned him for having sympathy for someone who could quite easily be lying to him. "Um- you're attorney said it was fine? You're sure?"

"Positive. He just wanted me to check with you first."

"Oh.. alright. Well, I guess if he says so." John rubbed at the back of his neck, peeking over at his talkative partner once again. "Um- just make it quick."

"I will, sir. Of course." Bruce nodded as he continued to lie through his teeth. He almost wanted to tell the guard of his schemes just so he could have the pleasure of laughing in his face.

"I just have one more, tiny favor to ask of you." Bruce held up his cuffed hands then and watched the uncomfortable look on the guard's face grow. "I know you have the key to these, officer."

"I mean yes, I do. But I think it's against protocol-" He looked over to his partner once again and Bruce stopped him before he could call out to the older guard.

"Oh, I didn't realize you needed permission from your superior." Bruce feigned his most innocent expression, staring directly at the young guard's conflicted expression. "I really am sorry. I'll go ask h-"

"Um no, it's fine." The young guard spoke quickly now, waving a dismissive hand in the second guard's direction. "He is not my superior. He's my partner. We both have the keys." He fished through his pocket then, a look of strained confidence on his face. "Here."

Within moments the cuffs were removed and the young guard was pointing in the direction of the restroom. "You have two minutes."

"Thank you, sir." Bruce flashed him a manufactured grin once again before turning on his heel. "Yes, of course. Two minutes tops."

* * *

Neal had to force himself to eat. And he hated himself for it. El had made an elaborate celebratory breakfast fit for a party of about eight guests, not three, and Neal could hardly bare to touch it. Of course he did, however. He ate what was given to him and forced a necessary smile. But the sickly feeling in his gut assured him that none of it was genuine.

Breakfast had been filled with small talk and even a few minutes of Peter's failed attempt at landing jokes. They avoided anything and everything that had to do with the trial. Well, at least, out loud they did.

Neal jumped up at every little sound, waiting for Peter's phone to ring with the good news and the unsettling food in his stomach to cease its distressing, upwards expedition.

It wasn't until they had finished eating, cleaned the table, walked Satchmo and settled down in the living room before Peter's phone did in fact ring. And Neal's stomach clenched itself into the most rigid of knots.

"Yeah, officer. What do you need?" Peter sighed deeply, hardly in the mood for any NYPD drama right now. He knew there was no way they could be calling him with the verdict so soon.

"What?" Peter's sudden, stern voice caused Neal's eyebrows to shoot up and his stomach to drop unforgiving.

He watched as the agent raised instantly from the couch, putting a hand securely on his hip. "Officer- Officer Morgan, please slow down. I can't-"

He rubbed a hand down his face roughly before he spoke up even louder than he had moments before. "John. Slow the heck down. What happened?"

The man on the opposite line must have been speaking properly now because Peter could only listen. Just listen, nod and grow nearly pale before he sat down slowly on the couch next to Neal once again.

And Neal felt sick almost instantly. "Peter?" He looked over the agent with a harsh intensity, willing him to respond. But the agent wouldn't even turn to look at him.

"No. Not again. There's no way." Peter's voice was rushed as he made himself stand up again before swiping his keys from the coffee table and pushing them into his pocket, right before holstering his gun. "How did you let this happen? We needed security on this man around the clock. He is known for escape acts like this-"

Neal jumped up from the couch instantly, his expression almost crazed and Peter closed his eyes forcefully, realizing his slip. "Neal." He said slowly, moving to open his eyes, almost scared to see the teen's reaction. But there was no reaction to be seen. He could only hear the sound of quickened footsteps and the harsh slam of the front door behind him.

"Hun, what happened?" El had rushed back into the room in time to see her husband hang up the phone on a blabbering John, grab his coat and run out of the house without any explanation whatsoever.

After all, he had a petrified teen to catch.

Before someone else did.

* * *

Neal took off running. He didn't stop to let his decision register or to lay out all of his options. He still had yet to stop for a breath.

He forced himself to take in a ragged breathe then, willing himself to remember to continue this necessary, repeated action.

His father had escaped from prison. And now his father had escaped from the courthouse - during his trial. With law enforcement keeping watch nearby.

How? How did he always seem to manage this?

Neal couldn't think properly, and frankly, he didn't want to. His father hadn't escaped just for the thrill. No, the two of them were very different in this regard. His father had escaped to seek revenge. He knew his father must know where he was staying. And Neal knew he could hardly be too pleased with his current living arrangements. No, his father had never been the biggest fan of the Burkes.

The Burkes.

That's where he would go to find him.

But he wouldn't find him. He had fled. It had been his first, fight or flight, instinct to do so.

No, he would find El and Peter there instead.

Neal stopped then, feeling his legs go numb and his heart banging so loudly he swore he could hear it.

And then he turned around.

* * *

"Neal!" Peter's voice echoed down the block as he walked swiftly down the street, his stomach in knots. "Neal!"

Neal's deranged, abusive and possibly mentally insane, father was running unguarded throughout the city - and so was Neal. He knew Bruce's M.O all too well at this point. He knew he was out for blood. Cold-blooded revenge.

He called his name again, careful to keep his voice calm and collected even though his insides were tearing him apart. His voice was threatening to crack with every fast-paced step forward. Neal was gone. A dangerous criminal who wanted him dead was on the loose and Neal was gone.

Neal, who he'd chased for two years. The kid who always made his job exhilarating and significantly more entertaining than he could have ever hoped it to be.

Neal, who always had a smile on his face and a kind thing to say, even when everything imaginable had gone wrong.

Neal, who could sit and joke with him after nearly being strangled by his father.

Neal, who had made arresting him so easy just because he knew how hard it was.

Neal, the kid his wife had instantly fell in love with and who had made the Burke's residence- whole.

Neal, the kid who he had yet to ask if-

"Hey, Burke."

Peter spun around instantly, coming face to face with the man he wanted to see less than anyone in the entire world.

The man who had almost killed the kid he cared for so severely.

The man who had his hands around that same kid's neck. Once again.

"I think I have what you're looking for."

* * *

A/N - Omg, what a cliffy. :o Things can just never go smoothly for Neal. You know, I feel really bad about this actually. :/ I feel so bad in fact, that I'm going to post no later than tomorrow morning.. Woo! Challenge accepted. Working on the update right now.

P.s. This new line thing I just discovered kind of fixed the section break issue. Hooray. Pps. Happy chapter 20! Insane, I know. :) Thank you for reading!


	21. Chapter 21

A/N - Wohoo somewhat quick update. To make up for the cliffy and the fact that the last ch. took some time to post. It took a while to decide if I wanted to do that plot line at first. Hehe. :/ Anyway, hope you enjoy this and call off your hit men. :D

* * *

Peter could hardly stare at the scene before him, feeling his blood run cold. "Neal-"

"Shut up, Burke." Bruce spat, his unsettling glare fixed on the agent who was now frozen in place.

Bruce might have been staring at him but Peter's gaze was averted elsewhere, eyes focused on the boy in the man's death grip. The boy who looked terrified but was still breathing. Thank god. He was still breathing.

Peter made eye contact with the kid instantly, hoping his expression conveyed a sense of reassurance that he wasn't too sure he even felt.

And just in case that effort didn't quite work, Peter made sure to subtlety move a hand across his hip. Right where he'd holstered his gun. Thankfully, the bulk of his coat concealed it from plain sight, but regardless, he sincerely hoped Neal would understand. The kid was brilliant, after all.

And Peter wanted to smile at how well that particular attempt had worked. Neal seemed to calm almost instantly. Well, as much as someone in the hands of an abusive captor could.

"Bruce." Peter slowly raised his hands as a sign of peaceful, albeit artificial, defeat. "It doesn't have to be like this." The agent broke eye contact with the kid then, moving to stare directly at the sickening criminal before him. "He's your son."

"Ha." Bruce chortled harshly. "And some spectacular son, he is. Leaves me to rot in prison while he goes to live with the one FBI agent I loathe most in the world. And now, I'm going to make sure you suffer for his mistakes, Agent." Bruce stared at him wickedly but Peter maintained the eye contact effortlessly, wholly unfazed by his harsh words.

He stared directly into the man's eyes, noticing something a little out of the ordinary within them. They didn't appear to be entirely - present. No, his eyes seemed more hazy, almost clouded to a degree. Light years away. Was - was this man drugged? How on earth could he have gotten ahold of drugs?

"Well," Peter began, his words slow and cautious. "Then this problem is between you and me. Leave Neal out of it. If you want to punish me, then come over here and do it."

Bruce grimaced, shaking his head. "Oh, but this will punish you, Burke." He tightened his grip on Neal's neck just a little bit more then. "After all, you're going to watch him die."

Peter froze then and Neal involuntarily winced before quickly refocusing his eyes on the agent, silently pleading with him to keep his composure. When that proved unsuccessful, he began to struggle against his father's grip, only to be rewarded with a fierce kick to his leg. Neal muffled a small cry and Peter immediately snapped back to attention, his jaw open and his eyebrows furrowed almost painfully.

"I wouldn't move if I were you, you idiot boy. It's simple, really. Move.. and you die."

Neal stood ramrod straight then, his breathes coming in short and irregular now.

"Oh, Burke. I almost forgot. I have a question for you."

Peter maintained eye contact with the man, urging himself not to look down at Neal. There was no earthly way that he would be able to do so while keeping his necessary composure intact. The agent certainly had self-control. But only to a reasonable extent.

"And what would that be?"

Bruce glared at him, hands unwavering from Neal's sorely bruised neck. "Just out of curiosity, what is the penalty for murder?"

Peter swallowed hard, but maintained his gaze nonetheless. "Deliberate, first degree murder?" He spoke slowly, forcing himself to motion at the boy in his relentless grip. "Life in prison. And great potential for the death penalty."

"Hm." Bruce grinned maniacally and it sent a chill up Peter's spine. "And the penalty for two murders?"

Neal paled then, fighting hard against the man's grip once again. But, Bruce only grinned wider.

"I warned you about moving, boy." He squeezed Neal's neck until he caught his eyes roll back before he stopped, easing the pressure abruptly. "That's your second strike, boy. I'd simply kill you now but I'm having far too much fun torturing your friend over there."

Peter gritted his teeth so hard it was painful. He kept his hands clenched at his sides, forcing himself to stay where he was. He couldn't underestimate what Bruce might do if he came any closer. He knew full well what he was capable of and now was hardly the time for a reminder.

In all truthfulness, he just wanted to shoot a bullet through this guy and get Neal back, safe and sound. That was all he wanted. Was that really too much to ask?

Peter let out a shaky, frustrated sigh. "Bruce, just let go of him and you and me can hash this out like adults. Haven't you ever heard of picking on someone your own size?" Peter inched forward slightly then and Neal looked at him like he had entirely lost his mind. If he was Peter, he would be as far back as possible.

"Oh, but I will, Agent. Don't you worry." He paused momentarily, edging closer to the Agent in response. "You're next."

Neal closed his eyes tight and Peter felt a sharp pang of emotion strike his chest. The kid looked like he was nearly about to cry. He was just glad Bruce didn't seem to have noticed, his gaze still fixed on him instead. That was the last thing either of them needed right now. His father would certainly have a field day with that.

"Oh, and you know what?" Bruce questioned, voice all innocence. "That is some excellent advice, Burke. I should start picking on people my own size." He laughed then. A deep and sickening laugh.

"After this moron boy, I will kill you." He spoke calmly as if he was doing nothing more than naming mere groceries on a shopping list.

"And then afterwards," He elevated his voice slightly, looking from Neal to Peter again, a horrifying grin on his face. "I'll kill your skank of a wife."

And Neal kicked him in the shin. Hard.

He kicked him once and then twice, his father's grip growing dangerously tight with the passing seconds. And Peter instantly took advantage of the situation. He had all the distraction he needed to distance this sadist from his now, almost entirely paled son.

He had the upper hand too. Bruce had yet to recognize that he was armed. The man could try to kick, punch and attack Peter all he wanted. After all, nothing shuts a person up quite as fast as a loaded Glock pointed right in their direction. Even criminals. Especially, ones of the un-armed persuasion.

He ran up to them immediately, prying Bruce's hands off of Neal's neck with his one hand while pulling his head back forcefully with his other. The man cursed loudly as he staggered, moving to lunge, rather inelegantly, at the agent. And Peter knew for a fact then that he was drugged. He could barely keep himself balanced as he punched once at Peter and twice at the thin air.

Peter took advantage of Bruce's disoriented, momentary lapse of control by grabbing hold of his hands and pushing him down to the ground, his knuckles clashing sharply with the hard concrete.

He watched as Neal shuffled away from his father, immediately gaining a significant distance between them. He made sure Neal was well out of the way before slamming Bruce flat on his back, the tip of his gun pointing directly at him. Bruce's eyes widened significantly as he registered the weapon's sudden appearance, struggling more violently under the agent's unforgiving grip.

"Hey, Bruce." Peter began casually before reiterating the same indifferent remark Bruce himself had made as he'd held his own son's life in his hands. "It's simple, really. Move.. and you die."

Peter only huffed at Bruce's predicted lack of a response, confident that the sufficiently-incapacitated man wasn't going to be pulling any more of his stunts in the near future. Having his fill of the man's sickening mug, he turned his head to check on the teen who was walking towards him now, Peter's own cell phone in hand.

"I called Diana. She said a team is on the way." His breathing was shallow as he spoke. Taking in a regular intake of air was still proving to be quite the struggle.

Yet, despite the situation, Peter still had to smile slightly as he titled his head towards the pilfered phone. "And when'd you swipe that, exactly?"

Neal grinned back sheepishly before dropping the cell back into Peter's coat pocket. "Sorry. I don't have mine on me."

Peter nodded, not even bothering to feign the least bit of disapproval.

"Hey, Peter?" Neal spoke after a moment, finally moving to look directly at his father, who'd only quit struggling under the agent's harsh grip moments ago. "Just out of curiosity," His words came out slower than usual, yet both men could still hear him loud and clear. "What's the penalty for attempted murder?"

"Hm." Peter pretended to mull over the question, trying hard not to chuckle at the slightly satisfying irony. "Well, that's a Class A felony, Neal." He averted his gaze from the irate criminal below him in favor of staring directly at the boy who's brave, albeit impulsive, actions seemed to have spared both of their lives. Not to mention El's.

"Really? That bad?" Neal questioned, having yet to break eye contact with his father's bone chilling glare.

"You bet. _Minimum_ seven years and six months locked up."

"Huh." Neal nodded, voice inquiring. "And isn't attempted murder of a federal officer about ten to fifteen?"

"Yeah, that's true." Peter paused for a moment, feeling the slightest curve to his lips. "For first time offenders, that is."

"Oh." Neal nodded. "You don't say?"

"No, it's the honest to god truth." Peter pressed on, his tone mirroring the pure innocence of Neal's. "But, when you got a rap sheet as long as this guy's, I'd say life in prison is almost generous. Wouldn't you?"

"Definitely." Neal retorted, shooting daggers at his father's vicious stare.

"Oh, shut up. You idiot boy." Peter felt Bruce writhe violently under his grip but he only pressed down harder, further titling the gun he had no real intention of using.

"Hey," Peter barked and Bruce's stare unwillingly met his once again. "The next time you talk is to answer whether or not you understand your rights as they have been read to you. Got it?" Peter didn't wait for a response before moving closer to the restrained felon, his voice low, yet unyielding. "And before you call someone an idiot, you might want to check which one of you is pinned to the ground."

The approaching sound of sirens could be heard in the distance now and Peter thanked god for the efficiency of his team.

Neal broke his resolute eye contact then in favor of staring up at the mass of agents and NYPD officers who quickly materialized on the scene. Neal watched in a daze as his father was forcibly restrained by Peter, who seemed almost giddy to finally have his turn cuffing the man, read his rights and shoved roughly into the back of a blaring patrol car. He stood frozen in just-registered relief before a familiar hand on his shoulder snapped him back to reality.

"Hey, he's gone now, Neal." Neal blinked up at the source of the cautious voice, realizing just how bewildered he must appear to those around him. He had been standing utterly motionless in the middle of the street, his unfocused gaze lost within the depth of a rather unsettling trance. "And they can handle the rest of it from here." Peter motioned to his hurriedly moving team before squeezing Neal's shoulder gently.

"You know, El must be going out of her mind." The agent attempted a small smile and after a moment, Neal returned it. "Come on, let's go home."

* * *

A/N - Wohoo! The good guy prevails. See you never, Bruce. Also, I just want to mention that I can't totally guarantee the accuracy of the law references about the sentencing and stuff. I didn't make any of it up but I did see mixed answers when I researched it. I chose what sounded most correct. The internet can be surprisingly unhelpful sometimes. :( Anyway, I greet all feedback and suggestions with fluffy kittens named Moe. Thanks for reading! :)


	22. Chapter 22

"No, they aren't back yet. Yes, I've been waiting. That's all I've been doing. Aside from tearing my hair out." El was pacing the living room, phone pressed to her ear and a far too clingy, slightly dizzy, Satchmo trailing close behind.

"I mean yes, he seemed upset when I last saw him but I'm sure Peter will understand, John." El stopped pacing then in favor of clicking a frustrated heel rapidly against the hard wood panels. "No, I could not call him because I'm still on the phone with you. Jo-"

Satchmo barked loudly then, scuttling over to the door as his tail wagged behind him and El knew they finally had the visitors they'd been waiting for. She smiled brightly in long-awaited relief as she followed the dog to the entrance, listening as a key found its way into the lock.

She sighed impatiently at the sound, hurrying to open the door herself. "Yes, John. That's them. No, you can't talk to him right no-"

She pulled the door open and immediately lost all ability to continue the art of word-forming as she stared at the two, scuffed up boys in front of her.

"Oh my god." El wasn't naive, she knew they hadn't been having a tea party out there. And yet, for some reason, she found herself oddly stunned by their appearances. She had been so thrilled just to have them back, she hadn't really been thinking clearly. She hadn't braced herself for two people she cared so deeply for to be in such horrific states. Yet, all the time in the world can't prepare you for the ill treatment of the people you _lo_ -

Well, she'd make sure to finish that train of thought later. After all, she had more pressing issues to tend to now.

"Hon. Neal." She ushered them both into the house, quickly hugging Peter and then Neal, gently, unsure of the gravity of their injuries. "What happened to you guys? Are you alright? Did they arrest Bruce? How-"

"Hon, hon. Slow down. We're fine. It's all fine now. Bruce is long gone." El stared blankly at her husband for a moment, before nodding slowly and not entirely convinced.

"Why are you two smiling?"

"No reason."

"Peter said you'd be going out of your mind. And you are."

The agent hit Neal lightly on the arm before shrugging at his wife, his smile all innocence. "Sorry, hon. But you kind of are."

"Well, I have every right to, be, mister-"

"Hon." El looked up at the agent while slowly taking hold of Neal's arm, moving him into the living room. "Let me guess." Peter pointed to the still lit up phone that she'd tossed on the coffee table. "Is that John?"

"Please go easy on him, Peter. He's been apologizing to me since you left the house."

Peter sighed before taking the phone from the coffee table and rolling his eyes at the man who still seemed to be talking on the other line. "No, John. It's Pet- Fine, you can tell me your side of the story. Regale me."

He covered the mouthpiece with his palm for a moment, directing his attention to the two people and one canine on the couch. "I won't bore you guys with this sure to be riveting tale. I'll be in the kitchen."

El nodded at her already retreating husband before moving to swipe the first aid kit from the coffee table, dropping it in between her and Neal. "See, I'm prepared this time."

"Ah. Well, isn't this just the most unpleasant déjà vu?" Neal smiled weakly, leaning his head back on the couch cushion. He would just sit for a few moments and ignore the world in its entirety. That wasn't too much to ask for? Was it?

He was hoping the gravity this situation would have sunk in by now. That he would have realized that he was finally free, that he was going to be okay. That Peter and El were alright too. And Satch, of course.

But, it didn't happen like that. Not yet, at least.

"You're telling me." El opened the kit, but made no further movements. More than bandages and healing jells and creams, it seemed like all this kid really needed was a break. And frankly, she could stand one herself, too.

"At least it's over now, Neal."

"Yeah. I've been trying to tell myself that. But it's - it's just not working for some reason. I just feel like-"

"It's not truly over?"

"Yeah." Neal looked sheepish now, wondering how El seemed to know him so well. "I know, it's crazy."

"No, it's not crazy, Neal. Not after everything that's happened." She began rifle through the kit then, searching for a cream for Neal's neck. She needed to get rid of those offending, deep hand prints - and fast. Hand prints that would never be found on this boy again.

"But things are different this time."

"Yeah?" Neal moved a hand to his bruised neck and he could almost swear that he still felt his father's merciless hold on him. The tight, unrelenting grip. that almost ended his life. Again.

The circumference of his neck was achy and it burned like he'd never experienced before. Yes, it was a comforting thought - that that is wouldn't happen again. Unfortunately, given his past, it wasn't as much of a realistic one.

"Yes, Neal. Now you have me. And Peter." She sighed unevenly then and Neal could swear he detected the slightest shimmer to her eyes. "Things are very different."

Neal removed his hand from his neck, bringing it back down to his lap slowly, his mind harassed with complicated thoughts. What on earth was El talking about? The trial was over. His father was in jail. It was all over with now. He'd leave tomorrow for his group home and then he'd be all alone again. He wouldn't have anyone. Let alone, Peter and El.

El looked up from her kit then, staring at the bruises on the kid's neck once again, feeling a surge of protection from somewhere deep within her. It wasn't remotely like anything she'd ever felt before.

"And you know what else?" She pointed her finger in the direction of the kitchen before guiding it back to the prints on Neal's neck, forcing herself to maintain her composure. "Nothing like _this_ is ever going to happen to you again. And Bruce isn't going to come near you again. That man in there would never allow it."

And Neal suddenly felt a very unexpected, powerful wave of affection and respect for the couple. It was hardly a feeling that he could ever admit to out loud, and yet, it meant everything to him.

"Yeah. You're right." And Neal wasn't lying. For some utterly ludicrous reason, he truly believed her.

"Good man." She pulled out a bottle from the kit, forcing herself to put her emotions aside, at least for the time being. The entirety of her focus right now had to be dedicated to getting Neal better.

And the fact that she loved him.

What?

No. Getting Neal better.

And that she knew Peter did too.

What?

No.

_Just _getting Neal better.

She shook her head slightly, trying to keep her attention where it was needed. "Now, you ready for some of this cream?"

Neal nodded then and let El begin her ministrations, ignoring the cold tingle of the cream and focusing his thoughts on something that was, oddly enough, more unsettling.

Peter and El were going to make incredible parents. They just wouldn't be such parental figures for him.

He wanted to kick himself for feeling so horribly about the Burkes adoption. But, he could berate himself all he wanted and it could never change how he felt.

Soon, there would be another child living here, cooking with El and singing along to old jazz hits and once-dusty Blues records. There would be another kid being forced to watch the game with Peter, joking with the witty agent and feeling the warmth and security that came with Peter's trusted, unconditional protectiveness.

_'Oh, shut up. You idiot boy.'_

_'Before you call someone an idiot, you might want to check which one of you is pinned to the ground.'_

_'I'm an idiot. I'm really am sorry.'_

_'You're not an idiot. You're the farthest thing from it, if you want my two cents.'_

_'You shouldn't believe what other people tell you, Neal. You know yourself best.'_

He would bet anything that Peter cared more about him than he could manage to care about himself.

And that was crazy. But, it was good crazy. The kind that was new, exciting, and almost too good to be true. It was the kind of crazy you genuinely wanted to keep around.

And then he pinpointed his confusion. His bewilderment. The strange unsettling, feeling he just couldn't put his finger on. It wasn't jealousy. No, it was hardly envy he felt towards this kid he didn't even know. This kid he never would know.

No, it was just sadness. Pure, unadulterated sadness.

He felt like he was losing the first home he'd actually felt safe in.

The first opportunity he'd had to not go to bed injured and scared.

The first people he'd truly cared about in years.

The first people who truly cared about him in years.

Ultimately, he was losing what felt like - his - and yet, was the farthest thing from it.

* * *

"Man, can that kid talk." Peter walked back into the living room, phone off and tired hand already being pulled down his face. "How are you guys doing? Feeling any better, Neal?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired." Peter nodded, settling into a chair, reaching almost reflexively for the remote.

"Nope. No TV. You go and wash your face, hon. You look terrible." El moved to turn off the TV, Peter's stare already fixed on something sports-related. One of these days, she needed to secretly unsubscribe them to ESPN.

"Why, thank you, El. You're looking quite lovely yourself."

Peter received a light slap to the back of his cheek then and Neal winced. El didn't know that Bruce had punched him. And neither of them planned on telling her any time soon.

"Fine." Peter sighed, discreetly rubbing the his now-aggravated head. "I'm going."

"Good. I'm coming with you. I need to put some band-aids on your face there, mister. What the heck happened to you?"

"Nothing, hon. I'll meet you upstairs."

El only shook her head at her husband before turning back to Neal, a hand on her hip. She debated asking him for more specific details but she had the acute feeling that such a tactic wouldn't get her too far. She didn't quite have the energy to test her luck with Neal's loyalties right now.

"Is he okay?"

And Neal only nodded.

"Okay." She sighed, accepting his un-informative response. "Why don't you just relax? Watch some TV or something? We'll be down soon."

"Thanks, El." She just nodded before bringing the remote over to the kid and turning quickly on her heel. One kid down, another one to go.

First aid kit in hand, she walked up the stairs to find Peter sitting on their bed, mindlessly staring at the TV screen.

"Is this a joke? I just had to pry you away from that screen and now you're glued to another."

"You only said to wash my face. Didn't say I couldn't watch TV." Peter's voice had a child-like whine to it and El almost wanted to laugh. And she would have too. If her mind wasn't so preoccupied with much more important issues.

El glared knowingly at her husband. All too ready to rebuke him for never taking anything seriously, to scold him for trivializing such an imperative issue that they both knew they had to discuss, when suddenly, the TV went off and sober, brown eyes met hers.

"We need to talk about this."

"I know." El nodded before moving to lie down on the bed alongside her husband, immediately taking his hand in hers.

"I think we're both on the same page here." She began, testing the waters. "So, why are we prolonging this? Making it a lot harder than it has to be?"

"Because El." Peter sighed then, his tone sounding less confident than his words were meant to. "This is a major life decision. We should at least discuss it first, right?"

"Hon, I know you better than anyone. You have nothing to discuss."

"You're right." Peter answered instantly and El stifled a chuckle. She knew him far too well. "I guess it's just weird. We should have more to talk about. Shouldn't we?"

"I really don't know, hon. I think sometimes you can just tell when something feels right."

"And it does."

"I know."

"So," Peter sighed shakily, feeling an unexpected curve to his lips. "We really want to do this? We really want to - try and adopt Neal?"

And then Peter did smile. Because his wife did. And because they were happy. They'd said it aloud for the first time since they both landed on the idea. And god, were they happy.

"Yes. Of course we do." El nodded, feeling far more relaxed now that it was truly official. "It's just - the only thing that feels right."

"I know what you mean. It's almost like something was missing before."

"Yeah. But we knew that already. It's why we were trying to adopt."

"Yep. Trying to adopt" Peter paused, motioning to the _'Notes for Clara'_ post-it on the dresser and El turned to the article in question. "Someone just like him."

El laughed then, tightening her grip around her perplexed husband's hand.

"What's so funny?"

"Come on, hon. Isn't is just so odd how things work out some times?" She shook her head, once again meeting Peter's gaze. "I mean, if Neal heard us right now, he'd think we were totally insane."

And Peter's face took on a forlorn, yet almost irritated, expression and El instantly regretted her words. "Hon, that's not what I meant. I was just referring to the, you know, the general oddness of this whole, unexpected situation."

She sighed, noticing her husband's furrowed brow and far off stare. "He wouldn't think we were insane for wanting to adopt him. Have him as part of the family.." El stopped then, as if hearing her thoughts for the first time out loud. Before realizing that she was. "- Right?"

And it took Peter a moment before he looked over at his wife again, any semblance of a confident and self-assured FBI Agent, gone. "Hon. I really don't know."

"That would really suck, huh? Being turned down in favor of foster care?" She was going for light humor, but her voice just came out sad, almost painful.

And Peter thought back to his insecurity when it came to asking Neal to stay with them after the incident with his father. Days that felt like lifetimes ago.

He recalled how worried he had been that Neal would reject his offer, preferring a jail cell to extended time with him. But, he hadn't been too worried about the slight dent to his ego. No, it was something else entirely. He had been worried for Neal. He had worried for the kid's safety, questioning how he would be protected somewhere without him.

"Yeah." Peter answered after a moment, still lost in the memory. "But regardless of the outcome. It's still worth a shot."

"Well, yeah, hon. Of course it is."

* * *

A/N - Yay! Big news for the Burkes. :) Random note, as of right now, there should be more to this conversation in the next chapter. Woho xD


	23. Chapter 23

Peter squeezed his eyes closed, feeling his next words burn at the tip of his tongue. He debated for a brief moment as to the pros and cons of voicing his thoughts. He wanted El to know. Of course he did. In many ways, she almost had a right to.

"El," Peter began, his voice slow as he sealed his eyes tight. "Neal didn't tell you about what happened earlier, did he?"

"No. He told me practically nothing, actually. Why?"

"I don't know. I just feel like you should - should know something." He rubbed a hand over his face. He hated keeping things from his wife. Especially something as significant as this piece of information.

But, above it all, he didn't want to scare or worry her. Leave it to him to accidentally tell her certain details that might frighten her just a little too much. Or, details that might make her high tail it over to maximum security to kick Bruce's -

"You know Neal's never been a very violent person? Right?

"Yeah, of course."

Any form of aggression was simply not Neal's M.O. His mind was the only weapon he'd ever utilized. Otherwise, where was the challenge?

"In all the time that I've known him, he's never so much as squashed a bug. Ever."

El laughed, nodding. "That and the pathological fear of guns. I know all about it, hon"

"I know you do." He sighed then, feeling far more conflicted than he probably should have. "But something happened earlier. He -" Peter spoke slowly, his words coming out rushed, yet maddeningly vague. "I mean he's kind of the reason we even got control of Bruce in the first place, hon. See, he.."

"He- what?" El's intense look reflected both worry and a morbid curiosity which she usually concealed with much greater skill.

"Well, he kicked Bruce, hon. Twice." Peter stared far off, his brows scrunched as he thought back to the unpleasant scene.

"What? That's impossible." El looked at him skeptically for a moment, her voice low. "Wasn't he being, you know, he was -" El paused for a moment, moving a hand to rest on her neck.

"Yeah, hon. That's the point." Peter's eyes snapped back to the present, brow still furrowed. "Listen, his father was going to kill him, El. Right then and there. I saw what was happening with my own eyes." Peter shuttered slightly and El's frantic eyes met his instantly.

"What? Was he out of his mind? Neal's way too smart for that. He'd never kick someone who had the upper hand. Who could've possibly ki-" She stopped then, closing her eyes tight for a moment.

"Oh." She took a deep breath before meeting Peter's gaze again, her hand involuntarily moving to squeeze his. "He did it for a reason, didn't he? That's why you're telling me this?"

"Yeah, hon." Peter fortified himself, clearing his throat before continuing. "Bruce threatened him. Well, both of us, really."

"Yeah. I got that." She interjected, tone frustrated. "He threatened to kill him, remember?"

"Hon." Peter shot her a impatient look and she quieted instantly. "No. He threatened him with something else later, El. Well, _somebody _else." He paused for a moment, and soon, the telltale widening of El's eyes spoke volumes.

"Me?"

"Yeah."

"Oh my god. That boy-"

"You're not mad, right? Cause Neal would kill me if-"

"Mad? Peter Burke, have you entirely lost your mind?" She removed her hand from his then, shifting to sit up straight on the bed, her gaze titled downwards. "I'm - I'm touched. A little shocked too. But, hey, it's Neal."

She rested a hand on her forehead then, collecting her bustling thoughts. "But- just so unbelievably touched."

"Thought you might want to know." Peter smiled slightly, relieved that he could at least quit worrying about one thing.

"Thanks for telling me, hon." El nodded in his direction but her gaze seemed more than a few miles away. "I think I have to go squish that boy now. I'll be right back." El started to stand up but Peter grabbed her hand instantly and she turned to face him.

"El."

"What? I mean not before I scold him for almost getting himself killed-"

"No, El. Wait. You can't do any scolding, or squishing, for that matter." Peter moved then to sit up on the bed, catching his wife's perplexed gaze. "I really don't think he'd want that."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Come on, El. You know him. He doesn't do the things he does for a pat on the back. He does them cause, well, they're important to him."

"So? I can still thank him, hon. He'll live." El's chuckle was cut short by Peter's irritated glare. "What? It isn't like he wouldn't have wanted you to tell me."

"No, I know. It's not that-"

"Peter, if there's something you're not telling me-"

"Fine, hon. Okay." Peter lifted his hands in sudden defeat and El snorted. "It's just - to a lot of people - not us, of course. But to a lot of people, this could sort of be seen as a kind of.. debt, you know?"

"A debt? Hon, what on Earth are you talking about?"

"He saved your life, El. Mine too." Peter ran a hand down his face, willing his wife to understand. "People will do - and offer- a lot of _crazy_ things when they feel they owe someone something."

It took her a moment, but ultimately, she registered her husband's train of thought. "Oh."

"Yeah. I know Neal better than anyone. When we, you know, talk to him about what we discussed, the first thing he's going to ask himself is _why?_ And then he's going to search from here to Guam to find that out. He'll think there's some outlandish reason for it. I know him."

"He thinks he's incapable of being loved."

"Yeah, hon. That's an understatement, at this point." Peter smirked. "He just - he can't think our decision was influenced by anything else. He just can't."

"No. Definitely not." El paused briefly, squeezing her husband's hand once again. "You know, he doesn't need to know that you told me. It's not like it changes anything."

El finally moved to stand up then and this time Peter didn't object. "It's probably best to just keep all of this in the past, anyway."

"Yeah. I think so."

El nodded before curving her lips into a small smile. "Well, then what are we just sitting around here for? We've got a teen to talk to.

* * *

A/N - Pinky promise that the convo will happen in the next chapter. I was going to put both parts up together but not all of it was quite done yet and this part was just sitting there. So, I figured, why not? (: Just doing final touches on the next update. It's a really important chapter, you know, so final touches have involved a lot of freaking out, re-reading and second-guessing. So, please bear with me. Next chapter will be up like crazy soon though! Get pumped. xD


	24. Chapter 24

A/N - Well, it's finally here. Ah, the pressure is on. *nervous chuckle* :p Hope you guys enjoy it!

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Peter had been descending that very stair case for years. Every day when he left for work, every day after work, and countless times in between. And yet, he could swear he never accomplished such a feat in his life.

El had a hand pressed to his back urging him to continue his necessary descent. After all, there was truly nothing to worry about. It's not like this next encounter would alter any of their lives forever. No, nothing like that at all.

The push to his back proved helpful and they finished the reluctant decline in a matter of moments. Once they entered the living room, Peter was the one to shake the kid awake.

"Peter?" Neal startled, eyes blinking rapidly. "Did I just fall asleep in the middle of the day?"

"Yep. And with the TV on." Peter gestured to the re-run Yankees game projected on the screen. ESPN sure knew how to reel you in. The agent could already feel his attention slipping.

"Oh. Well, that explains it."

Peter just smirked at the kid before settling down next to him, any semblance of concentration lost. He watched mindlessly for about a minute or so before he felt an arm nudge him slightly.

"Hey, Peter?" Neal's voice was cautious as he pointed to the glaring woman standing beside him, an unreadable expression on her face.

"Oh, shoot."

The once high strung, unbearably anxious, '_unable to walk down a flight of stairs'_, Peter, had almost entirely forgotten about he and his wife's initial plan.

It was easy to do so, really. After all, it all felt far too - normal. Sitting on the couch with Neal while he tuned out some game Peter had seen countless times before. It was far too normal to be so radically disturbed.

"I feel like I'm missing something." Neal interjected, staring curiously at the couple.

"No, sweetie." El's response was quick as she moved to sit down in a chair across from them. "You just - you know how I hate it when he gets glued to that thing."

"True." Neal fixed his questioning eyes on the silent, almost wary, couple. Either he didn't know these people at all or something was definitely up.

"So, how're you feeling?" Neal turned to the agent then, choosing to put a halt to the couples' never-ending staring contest. "Don't see any band-aids on you. That a good sign, right?"

"Oh. Yeah." Peter answered without delay, resisting the urge to shake his head at their novice mistake. He could have at least used a band-aid or two. That might have justified the extent of time they'd spent up there.

Then again, who knows how long Neal had been asleep for? He might have no concept of how long they had been upstairs. Upstairs talking. Talking about what they had to discuss right now.

Peter swallowed roughly, looking over to his wife for assistance. More than anything, he just wanted to tell Neal and get all of this over with already. All he needed was Neal to accept their ludicrous offer and allow his stomach to un-knot itself.

All he craved was a few minutes of peace.

Can't a guy just sit with his family for five minutes, in peace?

Family? Yeah, the sooner they did this the better. The stress was clearly getting to his head.

"Yeah, um, I'm fine." Peter added, hoping to expel the inquisitive stare on Neal's face. "We just - El and I, we need to talk to you about something." Peter reached for the remote then, switching off the TV. "Got a few minutes?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." Neal turned to El then, hoping her reflection would give off more than the Agent's vague one had. But it didn't. And he remained hopelessly in the dark. "What's up?"

"Oh, Neal." El sighed then as she stared at the boy, a thoughtful gleam to her eye. Peter knew what she was thinking about. He could only hope that she'd stick to the plan and keep her thoughts and her squishes and whatever the heck else, safe within her mind. At least for the time being.

"Well, for a while now, Neal. A couple of months before I even met you, Peter and I had been discussing something. Something - really important to us."

Neal only nodded, not trusting himself to speak at the moment. He was almost certain that he secretly knew what this was about. Their prospective, adoptive child, of course. Yes, the child that wasn't him.

But what on Earth did the Burkes want to inform Neal of their plans for?

And Neal's heart dropped in a mixture of guilt and accompanying sadness as it registered.

"See, there are some details involved that we need to ask you about." El spoke slowly, her gaze meeting Peter's as her initial brave front diminished with every hesitant word. "Well, it's more of a question, really."

Neal felt both sets of eyes glued on him and yet he made no effort to move. He knew what they were after.

They needed him to leave. Not tomorrow. Not later today. But, now.

Maybe they were picking up the kid soon. Or, maybe they needed to get the house prepared or - well, whatever it was, he could bet it didn't involve the presence a mooching, con-man, teenager.

"Oh, um, okay. Shoot."

"Well," Peter sighed and El was relieved to see a foreign calmness to his expression. After all, the first step was always the hardest. And with that tortuous plunge taken, she was more than willing to hand over the reins. "It's just a little more complicated than that."

"Doubt things could possibly get more complicated." Neal feigned a laid-back smile, catching Peter's troubled gaze.

"Wanna put money on that?" Peter almost whispered and El cleared her throat loudly.

"Neal," She interjected and the teen found his gaze shift to hers once again.

He couldn't bear this little, playing dumb, game anymore. It was taking everything in his power not to simply blurt it out for them already. Anything to stop this brutal prolonging of the inevitable.

_Neal we are going to have a normal family soon and we need you gone. Try not to let the door hit you on the way out._

_No, they wouldn't do that._

_Would they?_

At this point, he would say anything just to save them all from this sure to be uncomfortable conversation and smile indifferently once he was through.

"We - we've been considering adoption." El spoke up suddenly, quickly capturing the full attention of both Neal and Peter. "For a while now."

"Oh."

And it was odd.

Neal didn't even have to feign his surprise at her statement. Hearing her say it out loud for the first time was surprise enough. "Wow, that - that's awesome, you guys. Really. I'm so happy for you."

And it was odd.

He didn't even have to feign his delighted smile either.

Whether this mystery child was going to snatch what was barely his or not, it didn't seem to matter anymore. At least, not right now. The smiles radiating off the couples' lit up faces matched his almost entirely and Neal could only feel joy for them. After all, they deserved nothing less.

Neither El nor Peter made an effort to say anything for a good moment or two. All they managed was to stare endlessly at him. Smiles still rightfully in place.

Neal took the opportunity to peek from the loving, nurturing and brilliant art-fanatic before him to the generous, witty and dependable without-fail agent beside him before looking down to his lap, despondently.

"Um," Neal cleared his throat, rescuing the couple from their borderline painful period of silence. "Not like it matters," He continued, trying to curve his distressing tone to one of a subtle, supportive nonchalance. "But, you guys are gonna make just the most incredible parents. I know that."

And El's breath hitched audibly.

"Hon, you okay?" Peter asked quickly, pretending as if he didn't understand what had just caused his wife's inopportune reaction.

Pretending as if he hadn't almost exhibited an identical response himself.

Pretending as if his eyes hadn't just opened to an almost dangerous extent.

Pretending as if the knots in his stomach hadn't just knotted themselves securely around more unrelenting, already knotted knots.

"Neal?" El asked after a moment, voice finally even and gentle smile still in place. "Remember when were hanging up that wonderful present you made me?"

Neal nodded, looking up from his lap to return her gaze with his own slightly perplexed one. Why on Earth was she bringing that up now?

"Remember how I mentioned that the kitchen had always been missing something?"

_'This kitchen was always missing something.'_

_'Not anymore. Now, it's got everything it needs.'_

"Um, yeah. I remember."

"Well, turns out, it was a lot more than just the kitchen that was missing something. You know what I mean?"

Yes, Burkes. You want a child. Your home was missing something and now it won't be. You don't need to be a genius to understand that.

But what Neal couldn't understand is why they were still harping on it. What were they really doing here? He didn't have the faintest, concrete idea. Yet, he pushed away the harassing feeling that they were just rubbing it in.

No, they would never do that.

Then, what was really going on?

"Yeah, I do. You meant that the whole house was missing something." Neal finished casually, hoping his small smile negated his slightly frustrated expression. "It needs a family. The, you know, the adoption."

Neal found it harder to say that last phrase than he had expected. He could only hope that the couple hadn't noticed his peculiar reluctance. "And you're going to have that now, right?"

"Well, that all depends." Neal could almost feel the familiar, brown eyes burning through the side of his head, insisting on his full attention. And Neal obliged, turning to meet the agent's patient stare.

_Depends on what? How fast I can pack my stuff? _

_No, they wouldn't do that._

_Would they?_

"Depends on what?"

"Well, more like depends on who." El added, smiling as she shared a knowing look with her husband and Neal realized that he had just about enough of this. They were already going to break his heart without even knowing it, why couldn't they just stop messing with him already? What did they need from him? A letter of recommendation? Honestly.

"Okay." Neal attempted to keep his voice neutral, willing the pain to stay back where it belonged. In his heart. Just carelessly eating away. "Depends on _who_?"

"Well, on you. Of course." Peter smiled wider than he had in a very long time and Neal felt his heart stop entirely.

"What?"

"You, kid."

Huh. There's that endearing moniker again. And Neal sincerely hoped that it was normal for him to have missed it.

"Me? Why me?"

"Neal," El interjected, her voice holding just the slightest bit of unease. Neal could not have sounded more shocked. He had to know what was going on by now. Didn't he? Unless he did. And it just wasn't what he wanted.

"We - we want you to stay with us. Here. You know," She paused momentarily, sharing a brief glance with her husband. "As a family."

Neal closed his eyes for a brief moment trying desperately to clear the fogginess of the jumbled reality around him. What on Earth did she just say?

His voice came out barley like a whisper and if the couple hadn't been sitting directly beside the kid, they never would have heard him. "A family? You - you want to adopt _me_?"

"Yeah," There was no hiding the tinge of anxiety from Peter's otherwise confident voice as he tried desperately to read Neal's indecipherable gaze. "We do."

"But remember, it all depends." El gave him a gentle smile and Neal knew that this was his cue. But how could it be? No, it certainly couldn't be. How can you speak when you don't necessarily recall how to? Well, it wasn't particularly easy, that was for sure.

"Neal, if you need some time to think about-"

"What?" Neal suddenly found his voice then, deciding to snap out of his dream-like trance in favor of confronting this somehow tangible dream before him.

"Time? No. No, I mean yes." He said hurriedly, the joy and shock competing in his heart promptly accumulating to unparallel amounts. "Yes. I mean, of course, yes."

"Oh, sweetie." El squealed, moving immediately to pull the startled kid into a tight hug.

Peter could only stare at them for a moment, feeling a rare, yet welcoming warmth locate his heart and settle there. He could finally relax again. He felt as if the most taxing of weights had just been lifted from his shoulders. And he could finally relax. With his - his _family_.

How could a concept so new fit like he's known it for ages?

"Neal." Peter smiled, clapping a hand on his shoulder and Neal grinned back, feeling an unwelcome sting behind his eyes. "What'd you think we were gonna ask you?"

"What? Oh, I don't know." Neal shook his head, only just registering how unbelievably caught off-guard he must appear. "Doesn't matter."

Peter nodded before sharing a glance with his wife whose eyes were gleaming just as bright as Neal's were.

"Guys?" Neal asked after a long moment, swiping at a runaway tear that threatened to rid him entirely of his virtually demolished machismo front.

Peter glanced from the boy's small, endearing smile to his unfortunate, albeit expected, furrowed brow before putting a hand up immediately.

"Neal, please don't ask why."

Neal's smile remained intact but his still-glossy eyes flickered with their usual mischief and Peter couldn't say he was even the slightest bit surprised.

"Why?"

"You know why."

Neal only stared at him expectedly. His questioning expression remaining mercilessly intact.

Peter let out an impatient sigh before he shrugged, his composure relaxed. "You know, there is a reason, actually." He replied smoothly. Two could play this kid's games. "I was just trying to test if some advice worked."

"What? What advice?" Neal looked to El for reassurance but she only shrugged, shaking her head at her clearly moronic husband. "Did it work?"

"Well, I'm not sure. Were you caught off guard?"

"I mean, yes." Neal stared quizzically at the agent, trying to figure out what he was missing here.

"Pretty unexpected, right?"

And Neal's mischievous smile was slowly replaced by a knowing one and he felt like shoving the agent off the couch. "Yeah."

"Hm. I guess it was some pretty sound advice then."

"Care to enlighten me, you two?" El chuckled, gaining their attention.

"You know, hon, some smart-alec teen once told me that you wouldn't try to catch someone off guard by doing something they'd expect."

El just raised an eye brow at him before rolling her eyes in fond exasperation. "Yay. I got someone else to help me put up with you now."

Neal smiled at her, still feeling his head spinning and the world around him hazed by a trancelike fog. "Lucky me." And not the slightest bit of sarcasm could be detected.

"I'm going to go get Satch." El stood up, elated grin having yet to budge. "We can all tell him the good news together."

But before she turned, she had to stare down at the boy for a long moment, her eyes fixed on his.

"By the way, sweetie. My husband often substitutes actual emotion for ill-timed, dysfunctional humor." She only rolled her eyes at Peter's child-like huff.

"That's not _why_."

Neal moved to peek from the life-saving agent with his complementary sense of humor, back to the affectionate woman with a smile of eternal reassurance, a thoughtful expression on his face.

Then, he thought about himself for a moment.

He recalled his trust issues and his intimacy issues and his letting people in issues and his depending on people issues and even his accepting affection issues - until suddenly, he didn't. Because he didn't have to. Because none of that mattered anymore.

"Yeah." Neal smiled, speaking a truth that not even the most skilled of con-men could pretend wasn't real. "I know."

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A/N - Yay, they're one big happy family only.. 24 chapters later! Lol. Thanks so much for all of the continued support guys. You're all rad and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. xD

Ps. Apparently Fed-Ex can't ship cats named Moe. Something about 'protecting animal rights.' I know, its an abomination. Anyway, I'll call back later and complain, don't you worry.. :p Thanks for reading!


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